


Lyrium & Lace

by JenniferHawke



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Play, Anders Being Anders, Brief Mentions of Past Sexual Abuse, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Oral Sex, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Romance, Sensory Deprivation, Smut, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-05-08 21:17:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 47,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14702511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JenniferHawke/pseuds/JenniferHawke
Summary: After years of mutual pining, Hawke and Fenris are together at last. Danarius is dead, and Fenris is a free man. While some wounds never truly heal, they fade with time.





	1. Chapter 1

**A/N: This story is dedicated to my wonderfully talented friend, Shink. Had it not been for our mutual love of Fenris, we would have never met. You’ve always inspired me to be a better writer. I hope this story makes you smile.**

**To my followers who have been waiting for another Fenris story since Equilateral … I’m baaaaaack!**

**These first three chapters were beta’d by the incredible ApolloWings. Enjoy!**

* * *

  
  
_ “If there is a future to be had, I will walk into it gladly at your side.” _

Three long years have passed since he left her, so long that Hawke feels she may be dreaming. She’s waited for this moment, she's wanted  _ him  _ for so long, that when he asks for her forgiveness, she gives no hesitation. Fenris’ lips brush against hers, and she nearly sways in the comfort of his arms. He holds her, one hand cautiously sitting at the small of her back. She can smell the polish he uses to clean his swords, and a hint of leather from his jerkin permeates the air around them. The kiss is teeth, quieted sighs, and exploratory nudges of tongue. She never wants this moment to end, can feel tears of joy brimming behind closed eyes. She loves him, impossibly so, and even though he walked away from her years ago, there’s been no one else, save for a shared kiss with Anders. She ended her brief flirtation with the mage before things could progress any further, Hawke not wanting to risk any possible chance at losing Fenris, even if he’d told her he couldn’t be with her. No, her body has remained untouched since his hands were last upon her skin. And Maker, how she keens at the sensation of his lithe body pressed to her own.

His kisses become heated and urgent, and Fenris holds her close to him. The heat from his body is incredible, and she wants nothing more than to feel him everywhere at once. She thinks to slow things down - that they should wait. The last time they’d done this it had been too much for him. She fears him running once more, but her body gives way to want and desire. Three years of longing and secretly pining unravel in his kiss. His hands are grasping at her hair, tugging on her robes, and she needs this. Needs him as direly as she needs air in her lungs.

They topple onto his bed. She’s grasping at his shoulders. His fingers move insistently along the laces and buttons that hold her clothes together, baring skin with an eagerness that is surprising but most definitely wanted and reciprocated. Soon, they lay naked before one another.

“Hawke,” Fenris keens, his green eyes pleading with her own. They lay on their sides, facing one another. The fire from the hearth bathes them in gentle light. Longing reflects in his eyes. And love, it’s there too, even if they’ve not said the words. She loves him, and knows he loves her. He’s shown it in many ways. It’s in the crest of her house that’s attached to his armour. It's in the red ribbon he’d taken from her hair and has worn around his wrist ever since their first night together. It’s in the way he gazes at her from afar when he thinks she doesn’t notice. And now, it’s in the plea of her name. She knows he wants her just as bad as she wants him. Knows that with his inexperience that she will need to guide him through this, as she had before. Knows that his lyrium markings pain him, and she will have to be careful where she touches him. She smiles, and strokes his face tenderly, and he nuzzles into her touch, as if a man starved.

Hawke presses her lips to his, kissing him softly with less urgency. A hand falls upon her breast, tentative touches that caress her stiff nipple. She sighs into his mouth, pressing closer to him still. His erection is heavy against her belly. She lets him know her touch is coming by lightly running a hand down his arm, and ghosts it over his stomach. He twitches when she touches him there, followed by a pleasured rumble in his chest. She runs a finger along his member, from base to tip, slowly introducing him to her touch. He shudders, and she loves how sensitive he is to her touch.

One of his hands slides down her hip, moves inwards towards her pubic bone. She lets her knees fall apart. Fenris pulls away from their kiss, and meets her eyes.

“It’s alright,” she nods her head, and his fingers delve into her folds. He tentatively explores her, running fingers up and down her slit. She wraps a hand around his member and he closes his eyes, a soft moan passing through his lips. He dips a finger into her, and Maker, she needs more of him. She does not care that she is ill prepared - three years of waiting is all the foreplay she needs.

“Fenris,” she sighs. “Fenris, I want you inside of me.”

He is quick to move, climbing in between her legs. He looks down at her with moss green eyes, eyes that are filled with wonder and promise. She strokes his cheek, and he pushes inside of her. She gasps and Fenris’ eyes clench shut as he hisses through his teeth. He lowers his head to the crook of her neck and breathes her name into her ears. The sound of his voice laced with such pleasure, pleasure she’s caused, makes her insides flutter, and she clamps around him.

He moves with measured thrusts, slow and controlled. Hawke wraps her legs around his waist, allowing him to plunge deeper within her. Each slide of him easing through her causes her to see stars. But he is moving far too slow for her liking.

“More. I need more,” she whines against his ear, capturing the lobe in her mouth, and she sucks. He gasps loudly.

“Hawke,” Fenris grunts. “If I move any faster I will not last long.”

“It’s okay. Please.” she begs, and he complies. His hips buck into her, faster than before. She closes her eyes, enjoying every thrust he gives her. She can scarcely believe it is Fenris who is making love to her. Fenris, the man she has spent six years longing for. Fenris, pleasuring her with his toned body that has shielded her from harm more times than she can count. Fenris, moaning with his gravelly voice that melts her whenever he speaks. Fenris, the man that she loves.  _ Fenris _ . She is fit to burst, and just needs that extra push. She sneaks a finger in between their bodies, circling her nub once, twice, and then, Hawke is coming apart, moaning his name as she grips onto his shoulder with her unbusied hand. A second later, he lets outs a deep groan, and spills his seed inside of her. The world slows around them, dizzying her senses. She looks up to see he’s staring down at her, admiration across his features. He leans down, kisses the top of her head, before sliding out of her and rolling onto his side next to her. She turns on her side so they are nose to nose.

Fenris smiles. “That was … .”

“Wonderful?” she asks hopefully.

“In a word.” He kisses her forehead once more.

She’s afraid to ask, but feels she must. “Did you … experience any memories this time?” Her heart races, afraid for the worst. Afraid that he will shy away from her once more if they’ve returned. Fenris frowns, and she panics.

“No.”

“What is it?”

Fenris sighs. “Tonight proves that I wasted years hiding away from your touch, all for nothing. We could have been happy together, all this time.”

“We’re together now, that’s all that matters.” Hawke runs a finger under his chin. Fenris’ expression softens again.

“Nothing in this world could part me from your side. Not even death.”

She kisses him with every ounce of her being. Nothing could make her happier than the gift he’s just given her. His heart.


	2. Chapter 2

Come morning, Hawke does not want to leave the comfort of his Fenris’ warm embrace, the elf an all consuming fire at her back the night before. It’d felt nice to spend an entire night cradled up next to him. But she knows their new relationship should not be rushed. Fenris is one who values his privacy above all else, and she will need to give him space. When she arrives home, she bathes, then retires to her chambers to replay the previous nights events in her head, smiling the entire time.

A messenger arrives the next afternoon. Sovilitus requests her aid in finding a few new herbs. Nothing urgent, but she could use a good walk. She will need to gather a few of her companions, in case trouble should find her. It gives her reason to see Fenris again, and that is as good a reason as any. But could the two of them keep their relationship from the others? They will all find out eventually, but Fenris may not appreciate speaking to others about their relationship before he is ready. The last thing they need is Varric hounding them for material for his book, or Isabela pleading for details to add to her already sordid imagination. Aveline would be focused on the mission, if she were able to leave her desk. And Merrill would likely appreciate the opportunity to get out of the alienage for awhile. Although, the elf did recently tease Fenris about his ‘puppy eyes’. No matter what some of their friends might say, Hawke knows Merrill is more observant than meets the eye. She will just have to put her Wicked Grace face on. Hawke decides that she will gather the two women after asking Fenris to join her.

He offers her a smile when she collects him, before grabbing his sword. It warms her that he is happy to see her. The four of them spend a few hours trekking along the outskirts of the city, close to Sundermount. It is relatively quiet, no bandits or giant spiders to throw them off guard. Aveline discusses new drills she is putting the city guardsmen through, and Merrill points out various woodland creatures she’s not seen since leaving her clan. Neither seem to notice the glances Hawke and Fenris shoot one another from time to time. Hawke is relieved when they return to Kirkwall, herbs successfully found, neither Merrill nor Aveline any wiser of their reunion. Merrill scampers off towards Lowtown, and Aveline heads back to the barracks. Hawke and Fenris walk in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Eventually, he turns to her.

“Hawke, I have a thought.”

“Not just one, I hope.” She teases, and he shakes his head, although a wry smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“You, are impossible, woman.”

“I’m sorry,” she chuckles. “What is it?”

Fenris stops walking, and she pauses, watching him closely. “Would you - “ his hand reaches out for hers, but falters, and he drops it back at his side. “Would you care to spend the night with me again?” A blush creeps up her neck, and her stomach is filled with butterflies.

“Of course.” she rubs a finger over one of his own, showing him it’s okay to touch her if he wants. “I’m glad you asked.”

Soon, they are back at Fenris’ mansion, sharing a bottle of wine he’d brought up from the cellar. Hawke wonders how many bottles the previous owners of the house had stacked up, as Fenris always seems to be in good supply. He does not bring them glasses, he never does. Instead they take long sips from the bottle itself, passing it back and forth between them.

It does not take long for them to exchange the wine for his bed, their clothes in a heap on the floor. Just being in his presence ignites her never ending desire for him. They’ve not drunk enough wine to be intoxicated - far from it. But, it has allowed the nervousness within her to die down a little. They sit on their knees in front of one another. Hawke reaches for his hand, and he does not resist. But when she goes to run a hand over his chest, he tenses. She draws her hand away, guilt tugging at the corners of her mind.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t assume -” he quiets her with a kiss. His lips nip at her own, and she sighs, breathless and pliant as his arms wrap around her, and his chest presses against her own. She is not touching him with her hands, but they are touching. She will allow him to dictate how they touch. He is gentle with her, kissing the crook of her neck while his hands curiously explore her curves. Tawny hands caress the underside of her breasts. They glide down the plane of her stomach. They rub the swell of her hips. He watches in awe, and Hawke is nervous under his gaze. He’s soaking her in as if she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. It makes her want to curl under the blankets and hide - but it also makes her feel alive, knowing that the person who makes her whole world stop can’t take his eyes off of her.

His hand brushes a long scar that sits above her hip. “The Arishok,” she reminds him.

“I know,” he answers, his voice laced with pain. “It was the most terrifying moment of my life, watching him strike you down.” His eyes meet hers, and she can’t help but caress his cheek. He leans into her touch, and kisses her wrist.

“Lucky for you, I was much faster than him.”

Fenris kisses her again, more urgent than before. She lays back, Fenris following her lead. He lays atop her, fingers exploring her once more. He kisses her neck, suckling and nipping at her delicate skin. She gasps his name when his fingers tug at a nipple. Fenris responds with a smirk, as he does it again. She moans.

“You like this.” he says, more an observation than a question.

“I like everything you do to me,” her breath comes out barely louder than a whisper, as if she’d run all over town.

“Is that so?” Fenris leans forward, taking her nipple into his mouth. He does not suck, but laves her with the slickness of his tongue. She pushes her thighs together, desperately needing friction. He switches off to her other nipple, giving it the same attention.

“Maker, Fenris. Your mouth feels so good on me,” she sighs. He pulls away to look her deep in the eyes.

“Would it feel better somewhere else, perhaps?”

If she wasn’t soaked before, his words certainly did the job. She cannot find her voice, only nods frantically. Fenris rubs a hand down her stomach, and she opens her legs wide. He kneels between her legs, studying what lies in front of him. His hand tenderly grazes her outer lips. “I want to know how to touch you.” he speaks, sounding unsure of himself. Hawke smiles, and snakes her own hand down the same path he’d taken, until her fingers graze his own.

“Then, let me show you.”

She swirls the padding of her index finger around her clit. A shaky breath leaves her lips, as she sees the way Fenris’ intense stare bares into her movements. She lowers her finger, dipping it into her depths to wet it, and brings it back up to her bundle of nerves. Her finger moves with a practiced ease, and she relaxes, enjoying the familiar touch of her own hand.

“Is this how you pleasure yourself when no one is around?” he asks, and she nods. “Allow me.” Her eyes meet his, and she sees it is a question, as his hand rests on hers. She moves her hand from herself. He presses a finger inside her, then swipes the padding of it across her aching nub. A breath hitches in her throat, and he does it firmer this time, causing her to squirm in place.

“A bit less pressure,” she says, and he eases his strokes. His finger flicks back and forth, much like hers had, and soon she is panting and fidgeting in place. Fenris lets out a deep rumble from his chest, sounding pleased with her reaction. He lays on his stomach, his eyes intense and mouth open with fascination as he experiments with her body. He takes his index finger and thumb, using the two together to press her labia together. Gently, while still holding pressure, he slides his thumb and finger up and down. She almost thinks it’s to tease her, but when she watches his face, fixated on her center, she sees he is studying her, trying to see what makes her tick. The sight of him so enraptured with her body sends a jolt of heat between her legs.

Fenris dips his head forward, licking from her opening to her clit, and she nearly squeals. He remains at her nub, tentative licks flicking against her, not quite with purpose, but to taste. They’ve not done this before. Well, she’s done  _ this  _ before, but never with Fenris. And from his cautious movements, she is certain it is new for him. For a moment she shies, afraid he will not enjoy her like this, but suddenly his lips wrap around her clit, and he is sucking, and she sees stars.

“Yes,” she moans, her fingers reaching down, grasping at the sheets. He hums a sound of approval into her, the quiet thunder of his voice vibrating against her. Her fingers seek out his flesh, digging into his shoulders when she finds purchase in his skin. As soon as she does this, Fenris stops abruptly, and Hawke’s breath hitches in her throat. She had not meant to touch him, but in the heat of the moment she forgets herself. She pauses, and he climbs her body. He takes her hands in his own, and places them on the pillow above her head.

“Keep them there for me?” he asks, his brow perked in question, and she nods frantically. He descends again, his mouth busying himself with her taste, and relief washes over her. Hawke cannot keep quiet, his tongue’s onslaught bringing her wave after wave of euphoric pleasure. Her fingers grasp the pillow, and she keens.

“Please, p-put a finger inside me.” He grants her wish, a single finger pushing through her wetness and filling her, not quite enough, but enough to make her pleasure that more intense. He resumes stroking her with his tongue, his finger slowly pumping in and out of her sheath. It is not enough and too much all at once. She wants him inside of her, all of him, but her need to come undone is too great. With a loud shout, she finds her climax, an unbelievable wave rippling through her entire body. Her legs shake on either side of his head and he laps at her, coaxing her through every last tremor. Far too soon, it is too much, her nerves sensitive from over stimulation, and she pushes at his head.

“No more, please?,” she whispers, her voice breathy and satisfied. He scales up her body, and she kisses him, languid and sated. He hums against her lips.

“I take it, that you enjoyed yourself?”

She laughs. “Oh yes, very much so.” His erection is sitting at the crook of her thigh. She regains her breath, and thinks to return the favour, but he begins to rub his cock against her wet slit, and she sighs with pleasure.

“Can you take me now or …” his voice trails off. She smiles, loving how attentive he is of her needs.

“Oh, I can take you,” she responds, by lifting her hips, the tip of his member disappearing into her welcoming depths. He groans, and sinks into her fully. He is gentle, his strokes slow and easy. Fenris pushes off his arms, bringing himself to his knees. He stares at where they are joined, watching him enter her again and again. While he watches how they fit together, she watches him. She loves the way his brow furrows and how he looks on with such curiosity and amazement. She pushes down to meet his thrusts, and he groans, voice thick with pleasure. A moment later, another emotion is plastered on his face, and she thinks it looks like guilt. Her heart drops for a moment. She will never ask him for details of his past abuse, but it is there, as if a demon trying to break down the door. Not here, demon, she thinks. Not if I can help it.

Hawke places a hand tenderly on his arm, giving him a brief squeeze of reassurance. “It’s okay, Fenris. Lose yourself in me. It feels good, doesn’t it?” A moment later, his eyes shut close, and he leans forward, his chest brushing up against her own.

“Hands,” he instructs, and for a moment she loses his meaning. Then, she remembers how he’d asked her to leave them on the pillow, so she places them back above her head. One of his strong hands grasps them a moment later, gentle, as he intwines a few of his fingers with her own, the other hand coming to grip her breast. She watches with rapt attention as he takes pleasure in her, as they find pleasure together. When he climaxes, spending his seed inside of her, she sighs, feeling complete.

A short time later, he is holding her in his arms. He takes her hand, and places it on his chest, now allowing her fingers to gently roam. The simple gesture softens her heart. It means more than she can express, that he is opening a door, little by little, letting her in bit by bit. Even if he can only give her pieces at a time, it’s enough, for her love for him can carry them both.


	3. Chapter 3

Hawke stares out her bedroom window, a smile tugging at her face. The sun sets in the sky, casting hues of magenta and gold. The Hightown streets below grow quieter with each passing moment, as merchants pack up their wares and return to their families. Hawke has just bathed, droplets of water cascading off her strands of hair, despite the thorough wringing of a towel. She is waiting for Fenris. It’s been nearly a week since they rekindled their relationship. Everything is new and promising. Duty has kept her from him the last two days. The last time they made love, he’d been so attentive to her pleasure. Tonight, she wants to return the favour. It has been lingering in her thoughts, but thought would become action soon enough.

Finally, she hears the familiar soft padding of Fenris’ feet on her floor. Her bedroom door is shut with a click. She continues to gaze out the window in an attempt to be coy, and his arms wrap around her waist.

“You smell of rain and fresh flowers,” he says, inhaling her newly washed hair. Hawke turns and wraps her arms around his neck. He had forgone his armour for a casual linen shirt, allowing her to fully press against him.

“I’ve missed you,” she says, kissing him softly.

“Is that so?” he asks, mirth in his voice.

“Very much. In less than a week, you’ve managed to make me completely and utterly addicted to your presence.”

“A shame the city keeps you so busy. Otherwise, I would have no cause to leave your side.”

“Now you’re just playing dirty,” she sighs.

“This is not playing dirty.” His voice drops, and a chill runs through her body. If only he knew the affect his voice has on her.

“No?” she teases, running a hand down his chest.

“I could rectify that for you, if you wish.” His eyes meet hers, wrinkling at the corners and a small smile tugs at his lips. Next thing she knows, he is walking her backwards until the back of her knees hit the bed. Fenris gently lays her across it, climbing over her soon after. Hawke shudders. She’s not had him in her own bed since their night three years ago. Memories that hurt, but are also a cause of joy, play through her mind. She allows him to take control again as he kisses her. He is eager to have her naked before him, lifting her shirt over her head. She peels herself out of her skirt and smalls, until she is completely naked. She sits up, sliding in beside him.

“And now, you are overly dressed. Let me help you with that.” Her fingers grab at the bottom of his shirt, and she looks to him for permission to remove it. He gives her a tender nod, and she pulls it over his head. Fenris takes the shirt, and folds it neatly, placing it on her nightstand. She watches him do the same with the remainder of his clothing. Old habits die hard, she thinks, then turns her attention back to the gorgeous naked elf in her bed.

One thing she’s always regretted, after he left her, was that they’d rushed the act all too fast. She’s lamented that she’d not laved him with as much intention as she’d always intended, while imagining what their first night might be like. She’d desperately wanted to take him in her mouth then, and often thought of it since.

Fenris has been eager to learn where to touch her, how much pressure to apply, how to make her moan. And when he’d put his mouth against her hot center, she keened his name for all of Hightown to hear. But tonight, she wants it to be all about him. Something she knows he’s never experienced before. They never talk about his past abuse in great detail, but after finally meeting Danarius, just minutes before Fenris ended his life, Hawke gathered that his life of a slave required much more than Fenris simply acting as a bodyguard. The way Danarius hinted at Fenris’  _ talents  _ said as much. Fenris told her in the past of some of the torment he’d endured, and Hawke knows that physical intimacy must feel very strange for him as a free man. He almost appears guilty at moments in their love making, after he makes a pleasured moan or sigh of appreciation. Still, she wants to show him how good it can be.

“I want to touch you. Can I touch you, Fenris?” She asks, playful yet cautious. He kisses her before nodding, and she smiles. “Lean back for me … please.” Fenris falls back, albeit a bit cautious, watching her attentively. She crawls in between his legs, and rubs his thighs with gentle strokes, careful to avoid the lyrium brands. Hawke watches Fenris’ face closely, looking for any signs of discomfort or pain. Instead she finds none, the elf’s gaze fixated on her hands. She notes the  growing erection that forms between his legs. Making sure he is watching, she takes her thumb, wrapping her lips around it, gathering as much saliva as she can. She pulls the digit away with a pop, glistening and wet. She places her thumb under the tip of his member, and rubs up and down in gentle strokes. Fenris sighs, his voice much softer than usual. She takes it as a good sign, and wraps her whole hand into a fist around him, stroking him languidly. Soon, he is fully hard, a bead of moisture leaking from the tip of his cock. Her thumb swipes against it, gathering it, and rubbing it into his smooth skin. Her movements quicken, and Fenris slumps against the pillows, eyes closed, as she strokes him in earnest.

He’s completely given in to the sensation of her hand now, arms and legs stretched out far, head thrown back in ecstacy. She’s kneeling between spread legs, sitting upright as a firm hand grips him with a steady rhythm. She teases him, palms him down, and slowly back up again, keeping firm pressure around his cock. She watches as he shudders, his core muscles tense, a barely audible moan passing through his lips. What she loves about this moment is that he is not looking at her, for guidance or approval. She’d noticed that he never takes his eyes off of her but he is allowing her to give him pleasure, eyes fluttered shut and allowing her to make him feel good. This is about him receiving pleasure, nothing more. Hawke smiles when he begins to slowly lift his hips, seemingly unable to control them. He is yearning for more. If he wants more, she will give it to him.

Hawke slows her movements, adjusting her position so that she is on her hands and knees, propped up by her elbows. He looks at her now, a brow perked in confusion. She lowers her head, but a swift moment later, he pushes her away.

“You need not do this demeaning act,” he says, sounding horrified. Hawke takes his hand in hers, sitting back up on her knees.

“The last night we were together, you put your mouth on me. Did you feel … demeaned then?” Hawke is slightly mortified, the thought of him doing something to her because he thought it was expected of him makes her stomach plunge.

“No … I … I wanted to see how you tasted. And once you started making those sounds I wanted to hear more of them.” His eyes fail to meet hers and he is quiet, the uncertainty in his voice making him seem years younger than he is.

Hawke smiles, feeling much lighter than moments before. “So you did it because you wanted to make me feel good?”

“Yes.” His voice gives way to nerves, and Hawke wishes for nothing more than to soothe him. But Fenris is not one to be coddled, so she treads carefully.

“And how did you feel when you were doing it?”

“It felt like you were sharing a part of you that was … intimate. And I enjoyed being able to taste and feel you in that moment as you came undone for me.”

“And that’s why I want to do this for you.” She strokes his cheek. “I have always wanted to do this for you, ever since the first night we were together. Things progressed so fast, but, I thought there would be a next time.” She trails off for a moment. “Truth is, this is something I know I would enjoy doing for you. I want to do it simply because it would make you feel good. That is enough for me to take great pleasure in it. But only if you want it. I will never ask you to do something you are uncomfortable with Fenris.”

“I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.” he trails off, his face looking guilty once more. “I’ve always thought it to be an act of humiliation, and it shamed me to have such thoughts of you in that position.” He stills, before meeting her eyes in earnest. “But if this is something you truly wish to do … I would not say no. I’ve always wondered how it felt.”

“Fenris,” she smiles, leaning forward to place a chaste kiss on his lips. “Why don’t I show you? If you don’t like it, say the word and I’ll stop.”

“Only if you are certain you will enjoy it.”

“I am.” She smiles. Fenris tenses for a moment. He rests on his elbows, not fullying laying back this time. He watches through narrowed eyes as she lowers her face to his cock, teasing him with her tongue. She circles the tip ever so slowly, laving him with the slickness of her saliva. His breath hitches, and he seems unsure of it all, a look of question etched on his face. Her lips wrap around him, kissing the tip and lightly suckling it into her mouth. Fenris lets out a soft sigh.

His eyes do not leave hers as she descends, kissing the base of his member, licking a slow line all the way to his tip. The sight of his eyes on her is nearly enough to send her into climax. Her mouth encloses around him, and he lets out a sharp breath. Hawke sets to work, loving the slide of his cock against her tongue. She takes him further into her mouth at each descent, and soon, Fenris’ fists are curling into her bed sheets. Her right hand grips the base of him, and soon hand and mouth are working together. Her saliva coats him completely, making the slide of her palm ease its path. Fenris’ hands become restless, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them. She continues to suck, and finds one of his hands with her own, and places it at the base of her skull. His fingers gently entwine her hair, softly caressing her strands. This is her favorite part of this act. The feeling of being completely submissive to her partner’s desires. Of course, she can’t tell him that, not yet. Their relationship is so new, and the last thing she needs is to scare Fenris. She does not know how he would feel about her enjoying being dominated in bed. Maybe one day she can tell him, but for now, she enjoys whatever he is able to give her.

Whether he’s meant to or not, both of his  hands have ended up in her hair. He does not push her down, or pull her hair tight, but she can feel from his grip that he is struggling to hold on. Hawke moans around him, and caresses the underside of his tip with her slick tongue. It’s the last push he needs, and soon, Fenris is spilling his seed across her tongue. The sound he makes is a muffled grunt, one she’s heard before on the battlefield. Hawke swallows him down, squeezing her thighs together to find some kind of friction, for she’s as soaked as fresh petals in the wake of dawn.

When Hawke finally pulls away, Fenris appears guilty and unsure. Until she takes his hand and places it between her legs. “Look how much I enjoyed doing that to you,” she says, hoping her brash action won’t make him shy away, and he all but pounces on her, claiming her lips with his own. She moans into the kiss, knowing that he can taste himself on her mouth. He topples onto her, so now she is on her back, and he is on top of her, in between her legs.

“Hawke,” he breathes her name like it’s a prayer. “I didn’t even know that I could … that I might … .”

“I’m glad you liked it,” she chuckles. “Because I certainly wouldn’t mind doing it again.”

“You are a wild minx,” he kisses her, hungrier this time. “And now, I want to hear you come undone for me.”

“I don’t expect anything in return. I wanted to make you feel good. Give you something that was just for you.”

“Your pleasure  _ is  _ just for me, Hawke.” His voice vibrates deep in his chest, and his eyes, narrowed and intense, set her all aflame. A shiver runs down her spine, as she settles against her pillows, spreading her legs further. Fenris plies her skin with wet kisses, starting at her neck, and works his way down. His fingers find her nipples by way of recent practice, and he gently gives them a tug.

“Is this alright?” he asks, and she nods enthusiastically.

“Mhmm,” she drawls out, earning a smile from her lover. He wraps his lips around one, and she closes her eyes, savoring the sensation of his mouth upon her tender flesh. His kisses descend, down past her navel, as his fingers caress her thigh. He dips a finger into her, and she exhales, a soft breathy gasp floating past her parted lips.

“A most enticing sound.” he grins, a satisfactory look in his eyes, before he ducks his head and swipes his tongue from hole to nub. Hawke gasps, closing her eyes. Fenris sets a slow pace, circling her clit gently with his soft tongue. His finger begins to pump in and out of her, working with his tongue to bring her pleasure. He’s only done this for her once before, but proved to be a quick learner, just as he had with his reading lessons. Fenris may like to be in charge, but he also loves to please. She opens her eyes, finding his eyes meeting hers, almost looking for approval. She smiles, and nods.

“That feels really nice.” Her hands wind into her bedsheets, and Fenris begins to flick his tongue faster. He slips in a second finger to join the first, spreading her as her pleasure builds. Without thought, her fingers find themselves laced in his hair, tugging, trying to find purchase. “Don’t stop,” she keens, and to her dismay, Fenris pulls away. Like a lightning bolt, Hawke realises her words and the forceful nature of her hands may have been the wrong move. Both times he has pleasured her with his mouth, she has done this, her hands forgetting their place. She slowly opens her eyes, afraid at what might greet her, but she shudders when she is met with a predatory gaze in Fenris’ eyes, a devious smirk upon his lips.

“You forget who is in charge here, Hawke. If I want to continue, I will do so. If I wish to stop, I will stop. If I want you to come, I will make it happen. You are not in control. Not here.” He pulls his fingers from within her, and she keens. An excited, though nervous expression crosses his face. He wants to take the lead, and she's happy to let him. Hawke feels confident that she can help this inner Fenris that wishes to have some control, flourish without explicitly telling him of her desires.

“Please, Fenris.” She doesn't care if she has to beg. Fenris looks amused, and swipes a finger, wet with her juices, across her clit. She moans, and he places a few more licks over her nub, before he gets to his knees, and enters her without a moment's notice. Hawke grips at his shoulders, moaning. Oh how just moments ago she wanted to come with his mouth on her. But this … this is nice too. Fenris slides all the way in, and pulls back out, his eyes studying her closely.

“Please, Fenris.” Hawke gasps.

“Please, what?”

“Please fuck me.”

Fenris grunts loudly, obviously pleased with her choice of words. He snaps his hips into hers, and picks up his pace. Their love making has been slow and tender up until this point. He takes her faster, but still with controlled measure. His arms hold his weight off of her, and he bucks into her, making her writhe and wail for more. He suddenly withdraws, but as soon as she whines, his mouth is on her clit again, licking and suckling at the swollen bud. Her climax builds again, and as she is teetering on the edge, he climbs back up and thrusts his cock into her. She groans, frustration building at her second lost orgasm, but her frustration ebbs away, as the feel of him stretching and filling her brings a new kind of pleasure.

“You complain when I stop fucking you and you complaining when I stop tasting you. There is no pleasing you is there?” Hawke looks up, half expecting to find him annoyed. Yet, a smirk plays at his lips. She can't help but laugh at his choice of words. The laughter soon dies on her lips, turning into pleasured moans.

Her hands hold onto his shoulders, wanting to find purchase in his skin, but she does not let them wander much. She knows he still has issues with touch, so she never surprises him. It’s a struggle to keep them still, and she slips in a moment of ecstacy, raking a hand down his back, her nails digging into his skin. Fenris grunts at this, catching her attention. She looks up at him, his beautiful green eyes bearing down into hers. She lets go of his shoulders, laying her hands flat on the bed, finding purchase in her sheets. He leans down, and kisses her, his hips crashing into hers.

Without warning, he is scaling down her body again, and his lips latch onto her clit, sucking greedily at her flesh. She cries out, both his name and the Maker’s, as his tongue ravages her sensitive bundle of nerves. The slickness of his tongue working against her flesh causes wet suckling sounds to fill the air, and Hawke shudders. He is a most generous lover, and her body quakes with approval. Her nerves sing with delight, pleasure mounting within her. Her body is tight as a bowstring, ready to snap at a moments notice. She trembles, and again he climbs up and mounts her once more. She almost complains, almost, but the angle he enters her along with his hips crashing against her right where she needs sends her over the edge. Her fingers claw at her sheets and she moans, the sound tearing through her throat and echoing through the dim room. Slowly she opens her eyes. Fenris has not finished, but his movements have slowed to allow her to catch her breath. She can scarcely believe she found her climax with him inside her.

“That … that’s never happened to me before.” Fenris’ brow furrows with confusion, and so she continues. “I usually need to rub myself or have a mouth directly on me to finish. But I just finished with you inside me and … well … .“

A smirk plays on Fenris’ lips as he continues to thrust shallowly inside her. “Then I shall endeavour to make it happen again.”

“Another time, perhaps,” she smiles. “Let’s take care of you now.” Hawke pushes up on her elbows, and Fenris stills. It tugs at her heart that he gets nervous when she makes a sudden movement, but she knows this will take time for him, and that some wounds may never truly heal. But she will be with him every step of the way. “How do you want to finish?” she asks.

“Just like this,” his eyes meet hers, and warmth fills her. Her head meets her pillow, and she takes in the sight of Fenris losing himself in her. He closes his eyes, his movements picking up the pace. Her fingers meet his own, by her sides. Fenris stifles a grunt, and bursts. She is blown away by the beauty of the moment before he finds his release - all worry on his face gone. He looks utterly and completely at peace - no demons to hound him, or self doubt to give him pause. It is this moment that she truly sees him. It takes everything in her to blink away tears of joy that threaten to fall. She holds him to her, as he groans in the crook of her neck, a sound almost of surprise. His body trembles, his thrusts coming to halt. Fenris lets some of his weight fall onto her. She hesitantly strokes the back of his neck, gently playing with his hair. Instead of a cautious pause she nearly expects, he moves into her touch. He grabs her hand, and brings it to his check, nuzzling into her palm. She beams at him, and his eyes met hers. She wants to say ‘I love you’, instead she says “I can’t imagine my life without you.”

Without pause he says, “You’ll never have to find out. I am yours.”

_ Hers _ . He says the word so easily. He would not make such a claim lightly. Fenris is a free man now, after a long fought battle of leaving his days as a slave behind. Hawke’s heart thumps in her chest, and she can’t help the gleeful laugh that escapes her lips. She kisses him, gentle yet consuming. It is a moment she knows she will cherish, until the end of time.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N:  _ I have to give this chapter a  _ **_slight trigger warning_ ** _. Fenris is generally a walking trigger warning, but here we delve a bit into his thoughts on intimacy. He experiences a very brief flashback to when he was a slave. It’s nothing super graphic, but I did want to give a heads up to my readers. The last thing I’d want to do is trigger somebody. This is a pretty common theme when writing Fenris, but better to be safe than to cause someone distress. _

_ This chapter has been written for almost a month, it just took me forever to get around to the editing process. Hopefully a chapter double in length makes up for the wait! I owe many thanks to the wonderful Acherubis for a fabulous job in beta’ing this beast. _

_ Recommended listening during the love scene: Medicine by Daughter _

 

* * *

  
Fenris paces in front of the hearth of his stolen mansion, a habit he thought to be rid of since securing his freedom. For so long, his life remained suspended, living in the shadows for fear that his former Master would drag him back to the life of a slave. But Danarius is dead, and he is free at last. So, what irritates him so? 

_ Hawke.  _

In the silence of his manor, it never takes long for thoughts of the mage to take root in his mind. For so long, he stayed away from the only thing to bring him an ounce of joy, afraid that his past would put her in harm's way, afraid that if they were to lay together again, lost memories would again come to haunt him. But his enemies are dead. His sins are forgiven, and there are no lost memories that torment him when they are intimate. She welcomes him into her bed whenever he asks. He is unworthy of her affections, this much he knows, and yet, he can’t keep away. It is  _ maddening  _ how much space she occupies in his mind when she is absent from his arms. It would be too easy for him, a former slave, to be with her every moment of every day, to fall back into routines he fought so hard for years to be rid of. To  _ obey  _ another. 

This sense of devotion he feels for her is strange and new. He’s cared for her for years, in secret. But now that she knows ... now that he holds her close after they’ve lain together - Fenris wonders how much of that devotion is of his own free will, and how much of it is formed from old habits. Obedience is something ingrained in him from the life of a slave. And as much as he’s rebelled against it, he cannot stop himself from coming to her door night after night, as if being pulled by a powerful force he has no hope of resisting. He knows Hawke is not Danarius, that he follows her because he  _ wants  _ to. Still, it frightens him that he may be losing the piece of him he’s fought so hard to attain - his free will. He belongs to no one, and that is a source of great pride for Fenris. He enjoys his space, his freedom to do whatever he wants. His home is safe and familiar. Here, he has control over his surroundings. 

S _o why does it bring him so much frustration to be without her?_

Fenris chooses to stay away, sometimes for several days at a time. He should be happy to find quiet moments such as this, to enjoy the silence and freedom he fought for. But Hawke is the balm to his every ache, the one thing he fills his lungs with air for. And her touch - it makes the lyrium in his veins sing. The pain is there, too, but it is a constant dull ache beneath his skin. Her touch soothes him. He is not sure if it is the mana that runs through her blood or the fact that he breathes for her, but she is the only thing that can ease his suffering.

It is late, and his body aches from the evening’s events, having spent his time patrolling Hightown’s streets with Sebastian. He’s not sure when they became friends, but Sebastian’s words have provided Fenris with comfort in times of confusion, since his transition from slave to a free man often leave his thoughts muddled. He’d taken up on the archer’s suggestion in seeking solace in the Chantry. It’d felt strange the first few times he’d entered the Chantry doors. Of course, he’d been there before, but always with Hawke, and always as a part of some quest she’d been roped into. But soon, Fenris found sitting in the back of the pews comforting. He will never be as faithful or devout as Sebastian, but he cannot deny the consolation he often finds. He may not have answers as to why he endured such torment at the hands of Danarius, but to believe in a higher power brings his often tangled mind a sense of peace.

_ “You know, when I return to Starkhaven, you’re welcome to come with me,”  _ Sebastian said, as the two walked through the streets. It wasn’t much of a surprise that his friend wanted to return to his homeland. What did come as a surprise was the offer to join him on that journey. Fenris never knew the pious man held him in such high regard. 

_" And do what, exactly?”_

_ “You're a fine warrior. If you could train men to fight like you do, we'd be unstoppable.” _

**_“_ ** _ I'm no leader, and I doubt humans would want me training them.” _

**_“_ ** _ Then why not train elves? I bet there's plenty who would admire all you've accomplished.” _

**_“_ ** _ I ... haven't accomplished anything.” _

**_“_ ** _ No? You are your own man, living as you see fit — you give yourself too little credit.” _

**_“_ ** _ You are being kind.” _

**_“_ ** _ Not at all. Think about it.” _

It was a fine offer, indeed, but his place would always be with Hawke, even if he did not say as much to Sebastian. 

As the pair turned a corner, they were interrupted by a gang of would-be bandits, only four in number. It had not taken much of an effort to defeat them, but Fenris had been knocked backwards into a wall by one of them, a stealthy mage. He was quick to get back to his feet and end her miserable life, but his back still aches where his flesh and bones impacted with the stone. After the brief battle, the two friends parted ways. Fenris wandered back home where a bottle of wine awaited him. The wine and the quiet provided little comfort. Mere weeks ago, he enjoyed the silence of his manor. But now, it felt empty. 

_ Fasta vas _ , he should go to bed and call it a night, but he  _ aches _ for Hawke. She never asks him to spend the night, but he always does after they lay together. He will never forget the crushing look on her face the night he left her, so soon after he’d taken her with his body. Hawke never pushes for more than he gives, but he does not want to risk her thinking he has any intentions of leaving her again. So on the nights they are intimate, he stays. 

He would be lying if he said spending the night did not bring a bit of unease, even as her bed becomes more familiar. But it is a bed that is not his, in a house he has little control over. Often, it takes him some time to fall asleep. But oddly enough, her sleeping form next to him brings him some comfort. With any other mage, being so close to them, sleeping and vulnerable would have been a nightmare of well placed anxiety. But with Hawke, there are no demons he fears that could hurt or sway her.

It is a terrible thing, being so helplessly smitten with one, knowing very well that happiness can be torn away in the blink of an eye. Any time he’s dared to dream of a life without torment, it’s been ripped away from him, the cruel theatre of a cold world never allowing for a long respite. But perhaps that’s the mind of a slave come again to haunt him. 

Happiness  _ does  _ exist in the world. He’s found it in Hawke. Her kind and forgiving nature shows him that even among tragedy, one can thrive and find their way. Hawke is no stranger to loss and pain. Hers is different from his, but she knows it well. 

He was there the day they found her mother - dismembered and possesed. He’d not been surprised, knowing well what blood mages are capable of. But to see Hawke loose her mother in such a way tore him apart. It happened so soon after he hurt her, and he hadn’t known what to say to help her. But grieve she did, in her own way. And soon after, even through pain filled eyes, she smiled again. She laughed. She drank at the Hanged Man and she took to the streets to help others who required it. Fenris watched her heal, slowly. She did not allow her pain and loss to change her. It did not haunt her every step or shape her every decision. Hawke’s ability to thrive even amongst tragedy inspires him. 

Fenris shuts his mansion door behind him before he realises he’s even moved. His feet walk a familiar path, one he’s taken many times before. But never so late as this. The moon hangs in the sky, it’s white glow illuminating the streets before him. Fenris finds himself at Hawke’s doorsteps, shifting from foot to foot, scolding himself for showing up at such an hour. But he’s here, and if Hawke is sleeping, he can simply walk back home. After a few more hesitant moments, he knocks. 

He is surprised that it is Hawke who greets him. He’d expected Bodahn, or perhaps Orana.

“Fenris. This is unexpected.” Her voice is welcoming, and Fenris’ heart thumps in response.

He feels even more foolish than before. “It’s late. I should not have come.”

“Nonsense. Come in. Please.” She turns to the side, allowing him room to enter.

As Fenris steps inside, shutting the door behind him, he notices Hawke’s smile, so bright and joyous that the corners of her eyes lift with glee, and he can’t help the shudder that runs down his spine in genuine happiness. 

“What brings you here at this hour?”

“I … “ 

He shifts from foot to foot. What could he say? That she’s been a constant distraction every second he is away from her presence? That he can barely breathe without her? That he’s never been more afraid to lose something in his entire life? The only words that can push past his lips are, “I am unsure.”

“That’s okay. You don’t need an excuse to see me. No matter the hour.”

Her words fill him with reassurance and warmth. She smiles at him again, and it is another reminder that he is undeserving of her. He pushes those thoughts to the side, though. They were the thoughts that kept him from her for three years. They have no place here. Not when he promised himself to her. Not when she deserves the moon and stars, and everything else in between.

He steps forward into the main hall. There are no signs of her servants. 

“I had thought to be greeted by one of your staff.”

“They are off duty now. Orana was just relieved. She drew me a bath. I was about to get in.” He notes the white satin house robe wrapped around her form. “Would you care to join me?”

Fenris has not come here for this. That she often offers her flesh to him is but a welcome gesture. He almost tells her that she means more to him than the physical pleasures she offers, but the thought of her naked and wet entices him. He is weak in her presence, so he gives in to the temptress before him and says, “Lead the way.”

She takes his hand in hers, and he relishes how soft and delicate her flesh is against his own. Hawke leads them up the stairs, and opens a door to a room next to hers. As they step inside, a slight fog greets them, the room balmy from the heat of the water. She closes the door behind them. Several well lit lanterns and candles brighten the room, and Fenris takes in his surroundings. 

“This is the one room I changed.” She says. “I’ve never cared much for fancy furnishings. But I really wanted a nice tub.”

The tub may be the most lavish one he’s seen, and that is saying a lot from his days in Tevinter. It is made of stone, accenting the white marble floor, and easily large enough for the two of them to fit.

Hawke undoes her robe, revealing that she is completely naked underneath. To think that only a thin sheet of fabric concealed her form from him as she sauntered about the estate has him aching for her already. After dropping her robe to the floor, she helps him unbuckle his armour. With his armour out of the way, he removes his clothing, folding each garment before setting it neatly on a chair. 

“Maker’s breath, Fenris. What happened to your back?” Hawke exclaims, instantly rushing to his side, running a careful hand down a particularly tender spot on his back. He can feel her fingers shaking slightly against his skin and even though the light touch is painful, it makes him shudder with excitement nonetheless. He turns his back to the mirror, taking a peak over his shoulder. He can see that he is bruised and purple just under his shoulder blade. Turning towards her, he lifts a comforting hand to her cheek as he looks into her wide, worried eyes.

“Sebastian and I were attacked tonight. It was nothing we couldn’t handle.”

“Still, it looks like it hurts. You should let me heal you.”

He feels her mana as it is called to her fingertips, but she does not cast a spell. Her eyes seek his for permission. It is a gesture he appreciates. He’s noticed that when they are alone, she seldom turns to her magic; that she will ask for permission to light a fire using her spell. She is always thoughtful, and for that, he is grateful. Fenris gives her a nod of his head. She turns him around, and he faces the mirror. Her hands caress his back, her mana flowing through them and into him. The ever familiar tingle of lyrium within his skin sings as mana flows through his brands. Lyrium and mana entwine with one another, swirling together as if to create an entirely new substance. She’s healed him before, so many times he could not count, but never as intimately as this. A shiver runs down his spine, and he needs to feel more of her touch against him. Fenris turns, and takes her into his arms, holding her close. 

Her arms wrap around his neck, and she kisses him below his ear. Heat pools in his groin, but nervous knots form in the pit of his stomach. Fenris feels vulnerable most like this, here without their clothes on. When they are apart, he always longs to have her bare before him. To see her without her clothing. But being without his own clothes takes him back to unwanted memories. He’s learned not to fear battle - he was conditioned to welcome any pain associated with a staff or a blade. But it was in the moments when he was instructed to remove his shirt, that the pain of a whip or humiliation of an unwanted touch would come. It hurts him now, that even a touch meant to soothe his aches and calm his mind, that he is reminded of another.

“Let’s get in before the water cools.” 

Hawke climbs into the tub, sinking to the bottom. The water sits just below her breasts, lapping at her skin, leaving her glistening in the light. His eyes roam her body, taking in every dip and curve, as if to commit her to memory. He follows her lead, climbing into the tub at the opposite end, closest to the wall. He awkwardly sits, unsure where to put his legs, until she takes each foot in her hand and places them at her sides. 

“There. Comfortable now?” she asks, and he chuckles.

“As comfortable as one can be.” 

He has never bathed with someone before and always thought it to be pure necessity. Get in, wash up, get out as quickly as possible. As he ponders the thought, he takes note of several jars and bottles perched on the edge of the tub. Cocking his head to the side in curiosity, he picks up one and opens the lid, carefully sniffing. The contents smell of flowers and something sweet. Honey, perhaps? He can’t quite figure it out but he likes the scent and so he just as carefully tips the bottle and watches as the cool, cream-colored liquid lazily drips into his open palm. He can feel Hawke’s eyes on him and he can sense her amusement but he tries not to let himself be embarrassed by it as he rubs his fingers together. The syrupy liquid leaves a slick film on them, slowly turning into lather as he keeps on rubbing. He’s never seen soap like this, never thought it could feel and smell so … pleasurable. As a slave, he had been given bars of something that only vaguely resembled soap, crumbling in his hands as soon as he rubbed it onto his skin. The soap he uses at home was not much different, simple bars for cleansing. There had not been such delicious lather and the scent … well, let’s just say, they had been a far cry from what he smells right now.

“Turn around,” he instructs, and Hawke moves so that her back is to him. He pulls her close, bringing her just mere inches from him, and begins to rub the soap into her back. His hands roam her shoulders, down her arms, and back up again, leaving suds in their wake. He cups a handful of water and rinses the soap off, then repeats the motion, this time, letting the water trickle over her hair, the gesture born more out of pleasure than necessity. He’s seen her with soaking hair a few times, after being caught in the rain, or washing off in the sea along the Wounded Coast after battle. He’s always been fascinated by the way her hair clings to her face when wet. He's thinks her to be especially erotic with damp hair. A smile tugs at his lips as he saturates her strands. After her hair is wet and dripping, Fenris takes a few more dollops of soap, and strokes up and down her spine, massaging her gently with hands that were trained to hurt. To _kill_. Even looking upon his hands now, after so many years of freedom, he’s still reminded of a monster. That she would care for him after all he’s told her of his past … . 

He is drawn back to the moment as Hawke swivels in his lap, so that she faces him. 

“Is it alright if I wash you?” she asks. 

He ponders it for a moment, before he nods. He is eager for her touch, even if in moments like this he is reluctant. It’s sometimes difficult for Fenris to accept her affection, no matter how much he yearns for it.

Hawke takes a cloth from the edge of the tub, and soaks it liberally in the water. She wrings it out, before applying a dollop of soap to it. A hand hesitantly presses to the front of his shoulder. Her eyes meet his, and he can’t help but smile. She’s so attuned to him sometimes, it leaves him awestruck. Fenris places one of his hands over hers.

“Like this,” he whispers guiding her hand. He leads her fingers and the cloth down his chest, careful of the swirls of lyrium that circle around his nipples. Discomfort is always there, a dull thrum under his skin. Touching his markings directly can result in more intense pain. But when she touches him … her mana soothes the aches. Danarius often used his mana to stimulate his markings - to inflict agony. But it never hurts with Hawke. Not when she is so tender and gentle with him. He is simply not used to being touched with such care. It is his sincerest hope that one day, she can freely rub her hands over every inch of him without any of the anxiety that follows. 

Their hands move together, up and down his chest in broad strokes, until he lets go and allows her to wash him off with clean water. She runs her slender digits down his chest, letting the water cleanse him. Fenris takes one of his hands, laying it on top of hers once more. His heart hammers beneath her touch, and he thinks to tell her that it beats, only for her. But he cannot find his voice, so he kisses her instead. He cups her face as her taste fills his mouth. It is not long before he is wanting more. Greedy fingers roam her arms, down to her waist, until he discovers they are digging into her skin. He eases up his grip, but keeps them in place.

“Hawke.” His voice comes out much lower than it had when last he spoke. He sounds needy, and it embarrases him, that he whines for her touch. Hawke lifts his chin so that he is forced to stare into her eyes.

“What do you want, Fenris?”

He does not know exactly what he wants, but he needs to feel her hands upon him, for he aches for it. “I need your touch.”

A soft hand grips his member, and he hisses through his teeth. He’s not in pain, but her firm grip around him has him nearly seeing stars. He wraps his hand around hers, so that together, they bring him pleasure. Their hands move together, pumping up and down. A soft sigh passes through his lips, the pressure of her flesh squeezing him sends jolts of euphoria through his body. He removes his hand, dipping it into the water and between her legs. Fenris uses the pad of his finger to swirl around her clit, eliciting gasps from his lover. Silken heat envelops his finger, as he pushes one inside of her, and all Fenris knows is he wants to be inside of her. But not yet. She is far more reactive after he plays her body as if it is an instrument first.

A second finger presses into her. Fenris keeps still, watching her face closely as her eyes flutter shut. A good sign. It brings him tremendous satisfaction to see her pleasured reactions to his efforts. That he can cause the tremble of her lip and the shuddering sigh that follows brings him pride. 

“Fenris … “ she chants his name and he swells. Her eyes open, hazed and pleading. “I … I want … .”

“Yes, Hawke?” His fingers continue to plunge in and out of her heat, as he holds her close to him. “What do you want?”

Her breath shakes, and her fingers squeeze him tight and all he can think of is how bad he wants to be inside her, and then she says, “I want to ride you,” and he goes completely still. 

Suddenly he’s not in the warm and safe embrace of his lover, and it is not the water lapping at his skin. Behind closed eyes he can nearly smell the sour stench of mana and blood magic coming from the Magister, as he kneels, knees aching from the pressure of the floor, naked, his head hung low as fresh welts of blood trickle down his flesh from the whip that has just broken his skin.

_ “I’m going to ride you from behind, my little wolf.” _

“Fenris?” 

Hawke’s voice breaks him from his thoughts. He opens his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest ferociously, his stomach nearly lurching. Her hands sit on his shoulders. She wants to … what, he’s not sure. Surely her request cannot be the same thing he endured with Danarius. He’s afraid to ask, but he needs the clarification.

“What would that entail, exactly?”

Hawke smiles, not a predatory gaze like the cruel Magister’s, but soft and inviting. 

“Well, I would climb into your lap, kissing you.” She leans forward, giving him a chaste kiss. “And I would lower myself onto you, so that you slip inside me. Then I would move up and down, bringing us both pleasure.”

That was … not what he had expected. Relief washes over him, and he scolds himself for not knowing any better. He’d heard Isabela mentioning this act, more times than he could count. Maybe if Isabela was such a fan of being on top, Hawke would like it too. 

“I think I might enjoy that,” he says, after a few too many moments of silence.

“Sit back and relax, then.” Hawke smiles, and it soothes him a little.

Fenris leans against the back of the tub. Hawke slowly climbs into his lap, a firm leg placed on each side of him. Soft breasts press against the hard planes of his chest. He gazes into her eyes as she peers down at him through thick lashes. She is the vision of beauty herself, Andraste would pale in comparison. She leans forward, kissing him. The heat of her center presses against him. He wants to press up inside of her, to feel the heat of her wrapped around him as she cries his name. But he cannot move the way he wants to. The space of the tub is constricting, and he feels as if he is losing control. Here … here he  _ needs  _ to have control. He will follow her into battle, and heed her every order. But here, in the throes of passion? He has to take the reins. Fenris feels restricted, his insides too tight. It is as if the walls are closing in on him, the steam, their proximity, the way she hovers above him, trapping him in place … it is all too much for him to take.

“Fenris?”

“I … I need … “

“What is it?” Her eyes convey gentleness and comfort, things he desperately needs from her in this moment of panic.

“Might we take this to your bed?” 

She is right there. There should be no reason for them to stop and move to her room. But he is a broken thing. His heart lurches, and he feels himself grow soft, only bringing more shame.

“Whatever you need,” she says without hesitation, sliding off his body, her eyes watching him closely. Fenris hates feeling as if his emotions are on display. He ambles out of the tub, Hawke following closely behind him. Once out, she hands him a soft linen to dry himself with. She wraps one around her body, barely drying herself off, drops of water clinging to her skin. He rubs himself down quickly, before covering himself in the linen. He watches as Hawke blows out the candles, and leads him to her bedroom, shutting the door behind them.

She takes him by the hand, stepping onto her rug in front of the fire. Soft fingers entwined in his, Hawke brings her lips down to his hand. It is a simple gesture, but she could not possibly fathom the weight of this small kiss. A tender moment between lovers. He never thought someone could ever look past his brokenness. The idea of being hers has started to feel less strange, more acceptable. Sometimes, there is still doubt, though, especially when he is overpowered by the tenderness he feels for her in moments like this, where she shows him so much affection. 

Is this love? He’s felt this way about her ever since he can remember, the years without her slowly dragging on for an eternity. She is the cure to his aches. She can still his demons with a simple caress or hushed words of encouragement. Without Hawke, he still would not know how to read. She’s shown him that while mages are dangerous, there are those that wish to do good in the world. Because of Hawke, he is free. She turned a shell of a man into something more. He often observes the relationship between his friend Donnic and Aveline. He’s watched the guard Captain become softer over the months. They married not long ago, and while neither Aveline nor Donnic discuss their relationship in detail, he can see the adoration in their eyes whenever they are together. Perhaps his feelings for Hawke run just as deep as those bound as husband and wife. 

“Would you like to go to sleep?” Hawke interrupts his thoughts.  “It is getting late. I could even read you another chapter from Shartan. I know I used to love it when my father would read me to sleep.” 

Her eyes twinkle, and he imagines she is reliving a precious memory. Hawke does not talk about her late father often, but when she does, she lights up from within. Fenris does not know family, but he knows he’d give anything to always be able to make her smile the way she is now.

Fenris kisses her, hard. His linen slips from his waist, as his hand wraps into her wet hair. Drops of water fall from the strands, onto his arms. The fire’s close proximity keeps him warm. His heart swells, seeing that she wants to comfort him any way that she can. She is trying to take care of him, something no one’s ever done for him before. He never wants to stop feeling as content as he feels now. 

His fingers go to her linen, which is wrapped more tightly around her form. He pulls it down, casting it to the side. Impatient fingers secure around her own, and he pulls her to the plush rug on the floor. She lays beside him, kissing him as soon as she finds a comfortable spot on the floor. She keeps her hands at his shoulders, as he likes, and his hands roam over her soft curves. 

This … this is much better. The fire in his belly returns, and as his hand delves between her legs, he finds that she is still wet and wanting. He pushes two fingers into the heat that is Hawke. He can smell her essence permeate the air, and it makes him want to pound her into the floor. A groan slips past his lips, as he feels her flutter around his fingers. 

A hand of hers drops from his shoulder, gently roaming over his chest. She does not let her hand linger, and slowly moves it back to his shoulder. He wants to chase her touch, desperately so. As much as he may be cautious without his clothes, there are times where he positively aches to feel her hands upon him. This is one of those times. Hesitantly, Fenris grabs her hand, and places it back on his chest. His voice rumbles in his throat at the return of her silken skin against his torso.

She traces her fingers along his brands, swirling along one that curves around a nipple. It is an especially sensitive spot, and while part of him wants to ask her to move somewhere else, the sensation brings him great pleasure. His markings light up ever so slightly, illuminating the hand against his flesh. 

“Does this hurt?”

“It … is not unpleasant.” He struggles to find his voice, his words coming out low and strained. Hawke’s hand dips down, following another line. This one swirls around his navel, and once again her fingers follow its path. His stomach flutters under her touch, finding that this, too, is a very sensitive place. It boggles his mind how much she affects his body, how sometimes it leaps to meet her touch on its own accord. She has a control over it that he does not, and while that should alarm him, he cares not, for anything that can bring him this much pleasure is worth his full attention.

“I want you in my mouth,” she whispers against his ear, and his body trembles in response. He says nothing, just stares, enraptured, as she climbs between his legs. Hawke looks at him, and he knows she is waiting for him to respond before she continues. A slight nod is all he can manage, feeling he is completely under her spell. He lays back, keeping his eyes glued to hers as she sinks down, enveloping his hard length in between her plush lips. 

She is silk inside, and she bows all the way to the root. Hawke’s eyes glimmer as she meets his gaze. She is still covered in droplets of water. One cascades down her shoulder, the fire of the hearth casting a glow around her skin, dancing around her curves. His breath catches in his chest as she comes back up, only to sink down again, her mouth suctioning around his erection. He still cannot believe she enjoys this, taking him into her mouth. But he has no desire to end it, as the pleasure boiling through him takes dominance in his thoughts.

A wanton moan vibrates around him. Fenris bucks his hips in response, his body unable to keep still. Hawke wraps a hand tight around him, and strokes him up and down as her tongue swirls around his tip. She is skilled, he knows this even if he has no one else to compare it to. It is clear she’s taken other lovers before him, and he has to push that thought to the side, for jealousy has no place here in her room, when they are the most connected as one. Even more connected than the way they move together in battle, where their every movement is in sync through years of honed skill. 

Fenris laces his fingers through her hair. He does not assist her in her movements, simply stroking her strands, his eyes closing as she picks up her pace. All he knows in this moment is Hawke, her velvet mouth, and the immense pleasure that pricks along his skin as she sucks him. Spittle coats his shaft, and every time she sinks down, more moisture gathers at his sack. The noises she makes fill the air -  a wet smacking of lips meeting skin and soft moans around his flesh. He opens his eyes to take in her sight once more. His cock twitches in response to the lewd image of him inside of her mouth, her eyes hazed with lust. He knows if he allows her to continue, he will spill on her tongue. The thought sends a shock down the base of his spine. As much as he would  _ love  _ to coat her tongue with his seed, he wants to give in to her previous request. He lowers a hand under her chin as he pulls out. He waits a moment, trying to gather himself, holding her chin between tense fingers. A ragged breath passes through her lips, and her eyes are hungry for more.

“Straddle me,” he demands in a raspy voice that betrays his lust. He lets go of her chin, and she wastes no time in following his request. That she would obey a command so easily and without question stirs something inside of Fenris, and he thinks perhaps it is good that she will be on top. He does not know why the thought of her being submissive to him causes his breath to hitch, but it makes him apprehensive. His thoughts do not linger as Hawke hovers above him. She takes hold of his member, and rubs it against her slit.

“Cease your teasing, woman,” he grits through his teeth, and she laughs.

“Very well.” 

She sinks down, and he nearly sees stars as hot white pleasure builds behind his eyes. He closes them for a moment, revelling in their joining. She is all heat and warmth, and as tight as a vice. When he opens his heavy lids again, Hawke stares down at him, a look of adoration upon her face. 

His heart stills, filling with a warmth he knows only as Hawke. Only she can make him feel whole. Her fingers lace in his own, and she is moving, and ...  _ Venhedis,  _ she feels incredible around him. Every time her hips crash down, she lets out a soft gasp, the most beautiful sound he’s ever heard. He wants to hear it again and again. Fenris thinks to move his own hips, but is horribly distracted by her swaying breasts. He loves seeing her like this, taking her own pleasure from his body. It never occured to Fenris that he could enjoy giving up control like this, but here he is, thoroughly enjoying himself. He grasps her breasts with gentle hands, cupping them and watching the way she shudders when he does. 

Hawke throws her head back, eyes closed, and lets out a wanton moan. It is easy for her to lose herself, and Fenris hopes that one day, he can lose himself just as easily. Another drop of bath water trickles down her neck, sliding in between the space of her breasts. It loses itself there, much like Fenris is lost in Hawke. Lost in the peace she brings his chaotic mind. Lost in the view of his cock disappearing inside of her, where they are connected as one. Fenris decides that yes, having Hawke on top is really not so bad.

Eventually, he desires a more active role, and raises his hips to meet hers. Hawke’s eyes fly open at the sudden urging of his hips. Their eyes meet, and she smiles. His own lips tug upwards, and he pulls her down for a kiss. Her tongue slips inside of his mouth, and he wraps his arms around her tight. In this position, her breasts press against his skin. Their bodies hold on to one another, bringing one another as close as they possibly can. He wonders, do their hearts thump at the same steady beat? 

Suddenly her mouth withdraws, and before he can protest she is suckling at the tip of his ear. He bucks up into her wildly, the desire to claim her as  _ his _ takes hold of his mind. Just because he is underneath her does not mean that he can’t have control. Still holding her close, he thrusts into her velvet warmth. Her arousal has him coated completely, making the smacking sounds of their joining fill the room around them.

As glorious as this new position is, Fenris still aches for that last shred of control. To have her wanton and begging beneath him. He is not used to voicing his desires, but this urge to take her the way he  _ needs _ overrides any lingering anxiety. 

“I want you underneath me,” he says, trying to control a moan that attempts to flee his throat.

“Mmmm, I would enjoy that.” Hawke withdraws from him, his erection slipping out of her and resting on his stomach, coating his abdomen with her arousal. He immediately misses her warmth. Fenris ambles to his knees, and Hawke crawls on hers. She’s in front of him now, ass in the air, and as she’s about to flip to her back, his hands hold her in place.

“I have a thought,” he says, his voice wavering, giving way to his insecurity.

“Oh?” Hawke sounds intrigued, keeping her body still. Fenris cautiously takes his erection in hand, and rubs it against her slit. A deep breath pushes past his lips, as he stares down at her body, open and waiting. He places a hand on her ass, grabbing her generous curves. Hawke pushes back against him.  _ She wants this.  _ The need to dominate from earlier coils within him. Fenris knows she deserves gentleness, but the beast within him urges him to take her as she is. He pushes inside, and is met with a loud moan from Hawke.

“Yes,” she gasps immediately, and it is his undoing. He bucks his hips into hers, any thoughts of gentleness forgone. A loud cry comes from his lover as he drives in and out of her sheath, made tighter in this position. Hawke’s head rests upon her arms, ass high in the air. Fenris is enraptured by the view. He can see every slide of his cock entering her welcoming warmth, every ripple throughout her flesh when his hips connect into her. He keeps his hands glued to his sides as he takes her again and again. Fenris wants nothing more than to grab her hips tight, to squeeze her flesh as he takes his pleasure. But he needs some restraint. This is the woman he adores, the person he owes his freedom to. He will not treat her as if she were a mere thing. No. He owes her some tenderness, even if she does cry in pleasure from his rough thrusts.

“More,” she gasps. “I need more, Fenris.” 

A sneaky hand of hers reaches in between their bodies, and caresses his sack with a light touch. Pleasure, hot and unforgiving, tears through his entire body. He ravages her, hard hips connecting with her soft flesh over and over. Hawke’s loud moans echo off the walls, and Fenris would not be surprised if her servants could hear her all the way from their quarters.

A smirks tugs at his lips. No one knows of their relationship, save perhaps her household. Something primal stirs inside of him at the thought of others hearing their coupling, knowing that she belongs to him.  _ His.  _ A pulse of pleasure expands through his belly and lower. He will not last much longer.

“Fen, I … I need … .” Hawke groans, a ragged sigh following.

“What do you need?” He’d give her anything.

There is movement beneath him, and he realises she is touching her bundle of nerves. He’s learned that she often needs stimulation there to come undone. But he wants to make her come. Her hand should be reserved for the nights when he is not there to bring her release. His hand joins where they connect, pushing hers away. He can not maintain the same pace as before, but finds a slower one as he rubs her clit. Hawke cries out, and pushes back against him. He stops thrusting for a few moments, allowing her to take her pleasure from him. He continues to rub tight circles against her nub, as she pushes her hips back and forth against him. 

Eventually, he meets her thrusts, lazily pumping into her. They share control, giving each other what the other needs. This is as it should be. Giving  _ and  _ taking. There is nothing one-sided about their coupling, and Fenris’ heart swells. 

A moment later, Hawke finds her release. She tightens around him as her entire body shudders. She cries his name,  _ his  _ name, and Fenris needs to join her. He waits for her orgasm to subside, before he frees his hand from her clit. All thought thrown to the wind, he grabs her hips with his hands, and pounds into her. She is soaking, her climax glistening over his cock. He grunts, his body pulsing with arousal. A few moments is all he needs. 

As he spills himself inside her, he gasps her name, her  _ given  _ name, the only name he knows throughout his pleasure. He stills, his heart dancing within his chest as he comes, every nerve within his body singing. A contented sigh comes from his lover beneath him. Slowly, he withdraws from her.

A few moments pass, and Fenris places a hand at the curve of her ass, watching as a line of his spend drips from her. It is a sight that always thrills him, seeing her filled with his come. If he wasn’t so thoroughly exhausted, perhaps the view would be enough to ignite his passion once more.

Curling up beside her, Fenris pulls Hawke into his embrace. Contentment laces her voice as she sighs. He possessively holds her, keeping her as close as possible, her back flush against his chest. He breathes in her scent at the base of her neck. She makes him so happy, he is afraid to let her go. He commits this moment to memory, so that he can relive it again and again.

Eventually, he breaks the comfortable silence. “I did not think you would enjoy it so …  _ rough _ .” 

Hawke laughs in response. 

“And why not? Look at my life, Fenris. I am no delicate flower.” She turns in his arms, running a finger under his chin. “I love everything about our intimacy. The times you take me with tenderness absolutely take my breath away. But I enjoy being taken hard and fast just as well. Did it not feel good for you?”

He can’t help but smile. Hawke’s concern for him always flatters him.

“I think  _ this  _  - “ he brings his hand between their bodies, dipping a finger into his spend spilling between her legs, “is all the evidence you need to find your answer.” 

Hawke shudders against him, and he pulls his hand away, instead wrapping it tightly around her.

“Thank you, Hawke.”

“What for?”

“For allowing me to stay the night.” 

He’s not sure if he will come to her every night, but knowing that he has a place here whenever he wants makes him feel at home. Hawke  _ is _ his home.

  
  
  



	5. Chapter 5

_ A/N: Sorry for the delay. Have some cute Hawke and Fenris fluff! _

* * *

  
  
The movement of Hawke stirring beside him wakes Fenris. He’s never been a heavy sleeper, habits formed from long ago. Slaves are expected to wake before their Master, and a bodyguard must always be aware of any movement in the room at all times. Try as he may to erase his past training as a slave, old habits die hard. As he slowly lifts sleep laden eyelids, he notices the heat of her body pressed right against him. She is warm, her chest to his back, and a grin graces his mouth as her lips press to the back of his neck.

“Good morning,” she says in a sing songy voice, and he wonders how one can be so cheery upon first awakening. Fenris turns to face her. Her hair is knotted and jutts in various directions. He runs a hand down one of her arms. It pleases him to see her like this, bare and unkempt, a sign of truly being intimate with one another.

“Did you sleep well?”

“I did. And you?”

Fenris nods. He stretches his arms above his head. “I doubt I will wish to leave the comfort of your bed anytime soon.” Hawke puts on a fake pout.

“I wish I had the luxury of staying in bed all morning. Alas, I’ve made other plans.”

“What has the city asked of the Champion today?” he asks with a wry smile.

“No official business today. I promised Anders I would help him with the clinic. There’s been a wave of influenza in Darktown, so he’s been a bit bogged down.”

“You … help him often?” Fenris tries to push down the distaste that rises in his throat at the mention of the abomination’s name.

“I try to make my way down there once a week or so.” Now, he can’t help but frown.

“I was not aware you spent so much time with him.”

Hawke’s eyes meet his. “I know you don’t approve of him.” Fenris scoffs, but Hawke continues. “Anders does good work. He helps the sick, the poor, the forgotten. He’s often stretched too thin for all that seek his skills. He has a few people who aid him when they can, but they are no healers.”

Fenris watches her, carefully considering his own words. “But is it wise for you to compromise yourself, your position, to associate with an abomination? It is only a matter of time before the Templar’s go knocking at his door.” He regrets his words as soon as they leave his mouth, a worried look registering upon Hawke’s face. He will never understand why she cares for the apostate so.

“I do what I can to keep them off his back. I’d like to think I can use my title for good to protect those in my circle. It might not last forever, but … for now, they’ve left my friends alone. And it’s not just Anders who is in danger. What if one day, my status is not enough to sate Meredith’s prejudice?”

His heart twists within his chest. He’d only just returned to Hawke. The thought of losing her unhinges his mind. “She will have to go through me.” His words come out venomous. Hawke places a hand gently on his own.

“No small task.” She leans forward, her lips lightly brushing against his own. “Let’s not talk of such things. Are you free tonight?”

“I have no previous engagements.”

“Good. Would you like to come over for dinner?”

“Dinner?”

“Yes. You know, the last meal of the day.”

“I know what dinner is, Hawke,” his voice comes out more annoyed than he intends, but she laughs despite his tone.

“I thought it might be nice to share a meal together.”

“I would like that.”

“Excellent. I should be ready by the seventh bell, if that works for you.”

“I’ll be here.”

“Good,” she says joyously, placing a kiss upon his forehead. “Now, get up lazy bones! I have to get ready, and if I spend anymore time in bed with you, I will never leave.”

He’s tempted to pull her against him and kiss her hard, showing her how much more enjoyable it would be to spend the day with him over the mage, but he stops himself. He is not an animal, and she is not his to possess. 

Fenris gets dressed, and she kisses him before parting ways. He leisurely makes his way back home, no purpose in his step. As he passes through his stolen estate, the halls appear darker and even more barren than usual. Hawke’s home is bright and filled with such warmth. A warmth that he’d never known before. He lets out a sigh, returning to his room to practice his penmanship. He needs to keep his mind busy, for he wishes to not linger on thoughts of Hawke, and the way to abomination stares at her when he thinks no one is watching. Fenris hates the way it feels as if poison has seeped into his veins. He has no reason to be jealous. She’s given herself to him, and he knows she would never betray his trust.

Anders on the other hand, is an entirely different story.

* * *

Once night has fallen and the seventh bell has chimed, Fenris knocks on the sturdy door to the Amell estate. A minute passes and no one has answered. Curiously, he knocks again. When he is greeted only by silence, worry grips his insides. He opens the door, steps inside, and quietly closes it behind him. As he passes the threshold, Hawke’s mabari greets him with a low whine, barely lifting his head from where he lays. The dog would not be so calm if something were amiss in the household. 

“And where is your mistress?” Fenris asks the hound, when a loud bang rings throughout the estate.

“Maker take you!” Hawke’s voice hollars from the kitchen.

“Ah. Nevermind.” 

Fenris steps through the kitchen entrance, a smirk tugging at his lips at the sight before him. The kitchen is in complete disarray, Hawke most of all. Flour is sprinkled in her hair, and clumps of moist dough cling to her shirt. Dirtied bowls and apple peels are scattered across the counter tops, and a sweet aroma fills the air.

“Do you acquire my assistance?” he asks, and Hawke turns on her heel, eyes wide.

“Andraste’s tits, you’re early!”

“I’m right on time.”

“Oh … well … as you can see, I’m not quite ready for you yet.”

“Where is Orana, or Bodahn for that matter?”

“I gave them the night off. I wanted to cook supper for us myself. But, well, it’s been awhile. I’m not completely hopeless in the kitchen, I swear. It’s just that mother always took the lead, and it’s been ages since I’ve even tried and - “

Fenris steps forward to place a finger gently at her lips to cease her rambling. “You’ve done all this … for me?”

“Well, yes. I thought it would be nice. Mother always did say the best way to show someone you care is to prepare them a home cooked meal.”

The heart within his chest is fit to burst. When she asked him to dine with her, he’d assumed her staff would have made the preparations. But Hawke wanted to do it herself, for  _ him.  _ He leans forward, cupping her flour covered cheeks, and kisses her gently.

“Now you’re just distracting me,” she laughs. “Go sit in the dining lounge. There’s a bottle of wine there. I just need to throw this pie in, and change my clothes and I’ll be ready to join you.”

“You may need to wash your hair as well,” he says, smiling. Hawke lets out an exasperated sigh.

“That’s enough out of you. Now shoo!”

He shakes his head amusingly, picks up an apple peel, and pops it into his mouth before he takes his leave.

Fenris is enjoying his second glass of wine when Hawke finally joins him, hair freshly cleaned. She’s wearing a set of emerald green robes that he’s not yet seen before. The dark colour contrasts her pale skin. She sets down a loaf of fresh baked bread, the steam rising into the air.

“These,” he says, tugging at the sleeve of her robes, “suit you well.”

“I haven’t worn them out much. I bought them a year ago because … “ she pauses, worrying her lower lip with teeth for a moment, “... because the colour reminded me of your eyes.”

A year ago? At that time, they had far from reconciled their romantic interest in one another, and yet, she still thought of him often enough to be reminded of his eyes. He stares at her, wide eyed, with his heart racing against his chest. Fenris’ cheeks feel aflame, his mind a whirlwind of emotion he cannot express.

“Fenris, you’re blushing. You’re actually blushing!” She says all too amused, bringing more heat to his cheeks. 

“It is from the wine.” He brushes her off, but can’t help the smile that continues to tug at his lips.

“Sure it is. Oh, you may have everyone else fooled, but deep down, I think you’re just as much as a romantic as I am.”

“Perhaps you’re turning me into one.” Hawke chuckles in response.

“I’ll be right back with the main course.” 

A minute later, she carries two large bowls and places them on the table in front of him.

“Ferelden styled stew,” she says, taking her seat across from him. No one has ever served Fenris before. It is a strange feeling to be doted upon, but it also feels good. He looks down into his bowl, seeing it loaded with carrots, celery, and an abundance of potatoes, compliments from the garden in her yard. The potatoes, she says, are a necessity, born of her Fereldan roots. Anytime Hawke has cooked for their group during overnight stays on the Wounded Coast, she’d always had potatoes in her sack. Despite saying it was a Fereldan custom, Fenris has always associated the vegetable with Hawke.

“I know the brown colour is a bit unappealing to the eyes, but I promise it’s good.”

“I'll take your word for it.”

Hawke breaks off a piece of the bread, and swirls it into the stew before taking a bite out of it. Fenris mimics the action. An explosion of savory flavors dance upon his tongue once dampened bread meets his mouth. He swallows eagerly. “You’re right, it is good.”

“Told you,” she responds triumphantly. “Make sure you leave room for apple pie.”

“You know my weaknesses well.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” They finish their stew in relative silence, both of them savouring the tasty meal. Hawke stands.

“All done?”

“Yes. Thank you.”

She gathers both bowls, but as Fenris rises to help her, she stops him in his tracks.

“Never you mind. Sit. Relax. I got this.”

Hesitantly, he sits back down. He knows it would be a pointless endeavor to try and argue with her, as headstrong as she is. She returns with two plates full of pie. Fenris’ stomach rumbles, despite being full of hearty Fereldan stew.

“Eat up.” she smiles, taking her seat. The pie is just as delicious as her stew had been, the tang of apples and sweet cinnamon dancing upon his tongue as he downs his piece. By the time he has scraped his plate clean, he is fit to burst, and cannot remember a time feeling so full. He can’t help but reach out, taking Hawke’s hand in his own.

“Thank you, Hawke.”

“It was no trouble.” She says it so effortlessly. As if caring for him were second nature. He brings her hand to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her skin. 

Later, when the dishes are clean, a task they both equally share, they curl up by the hearth in her room. Hawke sits between his legs, her head against his chest as she reads to him with his arms circling her middle. She dozes off, pliant against him on the soft rug on her floor, both of them bathed by the warmth of the fire and the adoration burning bright in their hearts.

_ This,  _ Fenris thinks to himself,  _ this is true bliss. _

* * *

  
  


_ End notes: So, for NanoWrimo it is my goal to complete this story. As a result, many chapters, like this one, will be unbeta’d so I can keep up with my writing momentum. The editing process often leaves me feeling insecure about my writing and uninspired to continue. So, for the sake of NanoWrimo, and to my readers, I will skip it for the time being, unless I feel I truly need it for a specific chapter. Sorry for any grammatical errors!  _


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke and Fenris enjoy a night out at the Hanged Man, while trying to keep their relationship a secret from the others. Isabela makes things difficult.

_**A/N: This chapter is officially the most fun I’ve ever had writing a scene. I forgot how much I missed writing Isabela and the other companions. While I usually steer clear away from comedy (it’s usually not my style), I had an absolute blast with this. Maybe I’m not actually funny and you all will shake your head’s at my horrible attempt, but at least I made myself laugh in the process! Enjoy an extra long scene, friends. This chapter is doubly dedicated to my dear friend Shink, who never fails at making me laugh.** _

* * *

  
Crisp leaves crunch under their feet as Hawke and Fenris stroll through Lowtown’s streets. The sun begins to set, and the air around them has cooled enough that their breath comes out in a fine fog. Hawke has half a mind to press up against Fenris’ side in an effort to stay warm, but in preparation for the nights events, she keeps a casual distance between her and her lover. Hawke’s nerves twist in her gut. Fenris’ face is unreadable, but she knows he feels it too, as she’s practically had to convince him to come out. 

They’ve not had a night out together in the presence of their friends since starting their relationship, Hawke having to miss out on a few of Varric's weekly card nights due to her busy schedule, and Fenris forgoing the others to avoid any awkwardness. But if he were to miss another, her friends would take notice and ask questions. Hawke wants to take their relationship public, eventually. But for now, it felt nice to have something that was just theirs. So, they would have to appear as if nothing has changed between them. As much as she wants to turn around and head back home, they need to at the very least, make an appearance during Varric’s Wicked Grace night. Besides, it’s only a few drinks with friends. Surely, they can keep their hands and eyes off each other long enough not to raise any suspicions.

“You look nervous.” Fenris breaks the silence.

“Am I really that obvious?”

“Relax. It will be fine.” He squeezes her hand, just briefly, before letting his own fall back at his side. A few minutes pass, and before she knows it, they’ve reached the Hanged Man. She turns to Fenris.

“Are you ready for this?”

“This was your idea,” he teases and she sighs.

“You're right. Better to get this over and done with. Then, I can take you home and ravish you to my heart's content.”

“Minx.” Fenris gives her a lopsided grin, and Hawke’s heart can’t help but dip. 

“Hey, I had to get it out of my system. I have to be perfectly behaved in there.”

“If you don’t settle for just a little debauchery, the others will certainly know something is amiss.”

“You’re right. Shall we?”

As they enter the crowded bar, Hawke spots Isabela right away, in her usual spot, surrounded by two men she’s never seen before. Her friend looks absolutely taken by them, as she laughs and runs a finger down one of their arms. Hawke smiles, and doubts she’ll even see Isabela in Varric’s suite later that night.

They make it up the stairs, and when they enter Varric’s room, they are greeted by the dwarf and Anders.

“Champion! So nice of you to join us. And I see you’ve brought Broody along. About damn time, elf,” Varric chides.

“Oh, yes, we ran into one another on the way over,” Hawke says, as confident as she can muster, although she feels naked and obvious under their gaze. Neither of the men seem to linger on their joined arrival, however.

“Glad you both could make it. I don’t think we could have started a game with only the two of us.”

“Are the others not coming?” she asks.

“It appears it’s just us tonight,” Anders shoots Hawke a smile, and she takes a seat in between him and Varric, who sits at the head of the table, as usual. Fenris sits across from her.

“Aveline is on duty. I’ve been having a hard time getting Daisy to leave her hovel. Something about that mirror of hers. I try not to ask too many questions, just thinking about that thing makes my chest hair stand on end. So, she’ll be a no show tonight. And Choir boy is doing, well, whatever he does in that Chantry of his I suppose.”

“Probably begging Andraste for forgiveness for whichever vow he broke that didn’t suit his agenda for this week,” Anders teases. Varric chuckles as he disperses cards amongst the table.

“At least some of us have morals, mage.” Fenris says while gathering his cards.

“I  _ do _ have morals. It is my morals that have me risking my very existence daily! I will never stop fighting for our cause. Every mage should be free to live their life as they see fit. The templars will never stop hunting us. But I’m sure you’d be all too willing to lead them to my doorstep, if given the chance,” Anders nearly spits.

As Fenris is about to reply, Varric interjects. “Already with the insults? Can’t we start a round before we get into the whole mage - templar debate?” As if sensing Hawke’s dire need for alcohol, Nora pops her head around the corner.

“Any one need anything?”

“Ah, Nora! Just who I was hoping to see,” Varric exclaims. “A round for my friends. On Hawke’s tab.”

Hawke groans. “As he says.”

As the barmaid leaves to retrieve their order, Isabela sways into the room.

“Rivaini, you're just in time. I can still deal you in, if you’d like.”

“I have more important business, Varric. As does Hawke.” Isabela’s eyes meet hers. “You, downstairs with me. Now.”

“Nora’s getting our drinks. What’s downstairs that so desperately needs my attention?”

“Two very hot, very available men.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re referring to the two gentlemen I saw you engaging with earlier.”

“Well, I hope they're not  _ too  _ gentle.” Isabela saunters over, taking a seat in between Varric and Hawke. Hawke quickly shifts her gaze to Fenris, who seems to have taken a rather intent interest in his cards. “So, what do you say? They are simply dying to meet the Champion of Kirkwall.”

“And just what did you say about me this time?” Hawke asks reluctantly.

“Not much. I only implied that you’re a  _ giver _ .”

Hawke rolls her eyes. “Honestly Isabela, I would really appreciate it if you would stop talking to strangers about me. I have to deal with enough rumours due to our little dwarf friend over here,” she nods her head in Varric’s direction.

“Hey, my stories are never about your sex life. Not yet anyways,” the dwarf slyly raises an eyebrow. Hawke groans.

“I came here to play cards, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. Sorry, Bela.”

“Spoil sport! You haven’t even heard anything about them yet, and already you’re turning them down.”

The game begins, each member tossing a few coins in the pile in between Isabela’s pleading. Nora returns, setting a round of drinks on the table, before leaving to tend to another table. After Hawke picks up a new card, she turns to Isabela. “So, did you actually learn anything about them? Other than how they attempt to woo women.”

“Does it really matter? Did you  _ see  _ them?”

“I’m sure they’re very nice up close and all, but really Isabela, I just want to get through this game.”

“Well, what about after your game, then?”

“Do you ever give up?” Anders sighs, tossing his cards in. 

“Never,” Isabela offers Anders a wink, before turning her attentions back on Hawke. “So how about it? You finish up in here, and perhaps later you can finish with one of them between your legs.”

Fenris sputters on the drink he’d lifted to his mouth, and Varric laughs. “Easy there Broody, there’s no choking allowed in this suite. Death by Corrf's ale would be just too tragic, even I couldn't sell it as a believable story. You’d think after all these years of hearing Rivaini’s dirty talk, you’d be used to it by now.”

Fenris frowns, wiping his mouth with his hand as he regains composure. “Doesn’t mean I wish to hear her incessant whining.” 

“Oh you hush up. This is about Hawke, not you.”

“And I wouldn’t possibly think of taking away from your night of fun,” Hawke interrupts, thinking she can persuade Isabela into thinking that her loss would be the pirate's gain. “Imagine what you could do with two of them instead of one. It would be greedy of me to take that away from you,” Hawke nudges Isabela on the side. Her friend laughs.

“While you make an excellent point,  _ sharing is caring _ .” Isabela drapes a tanned arm across Hawke’s shoulders. “I would be a terrible friend if I didn’t say anything. You, sweet face, need to get bent over a barrel, and fast. Any more of this abstinence of yours, and you’ll start squeaking like a rusty hinge. How long has it been, anyways?” Hawke can see Fenris’ entire body tense out of the corner of her eye. What could she say to get Isabela off her back and not give their relationship away?

“Really, I’m doing just _ fine _ in that department, but I appreciate your concern,” Hawke says nonchalantly, focusing on her cards in an attempt to play coy. It of course, doesn’t work.

Anders slowly lifts his attention from his cards and raises an eyebrow at Hawke. “You’re … seeing someone?” As Hawke raises her gaze, she notices all eyes are on her, including Fenris, whose cards have evidently lost their hold on him.

“Are we really going to start talking about my love life? What happened to card night?”

“Card night can wait. Details, Hawke. My book isn’t going to write itself.” Varric sounds all too amused for Hawke’s liking.

“And that’s exactly why I wouldn’t tell you anything, _ if _ there was anything to tell. Which there’s not. Can we move along now?” 

“Let’s.” Fenris jumps in, clearly eager to change the subject, but Isabela persists.

“Well, if there’s really nothing to tell, why not come downstairs for a drink? Those men are just  _ gorgeous _ . Especially … oh what was his name … Jimmy? Jared? Doesn’t matter. The important thing is … he rolls his “r’s” when he talks. You know what a mouth like that can do to a girl? Come on, Hawke. I'll even let you choose which one you want to take home. See what a generous friend I am?”

“Hawke said she wasn’t interested.” Anders all but snaps.

“Don’t try to ruin my fun. Just because Hawke won’t let you dip your biscuits in her tea, doesn’t mean she won’t give poor Jerry a go!”

Hawke stills as she see’s Fenris’ face sour in a tight frown. It was bad enough that the pirate were trying to get her to meet potential suitors. But Anders’ infatuation with Hawke has always been a bit of a sore spot for Fenris, even if he doesn’t voice it in so many words. Her friend has always been ever so persistent, so Hawke knows she has little choice but to give Isabela some kind of lead to get her off of her back. If anything, to stop Fenris’ face from permanently being stuck in a dour scowl. “Isabela, a word in your room.  _ Now _ .”

“Oooh, maybe I’ll be the one to break her apparent vow of chastity. Any longer sweet thing, and you’ll be sworn into the chantry. Let Bela help you out.” Hawke rolls her eyes, dragging her friend by the arm into her room across the hall, and closing the door behind her. She lets out a small breath, and pinches the bridge of her nose while Isabela looks at her expectantly.

”Look, I really need you to stop.” 

“Oh, I’m only teasing, Hawke. It’s never bothered you before.” Isabela walks over to a table, unscrewing a flask and taking a large gulp before turning her attention back to Hawke. She sets down the flask, containing whiskey no doubt, and raises a curious brow in Hawke's direction. 

“This isn't about me.” She drops her arms to her sides, meeting her friends eyes.

“Who then?” 

“Listen, there’s something I want to tell you, but … “

“Maker’s balls, you’re not pregnant, are you?” Isabela gasps as if it were her worst nightmare, and Hawke wouldn’t be surprised if the others can hear her down the hall. She grimaces.

“No, but now I’m second guessing these robes!” She huffs, pulling at the material around her waist.

“Shit, don’t scare me like that.” Hawke can nearly see a wave of relief etch across Isabela’s face. “So if you’re not pregnant, what is it then?” Isabela folds her arms across her chest expectantly.

Hawke adores her friend, but the woman has never been known for her discretion. Especially when whiskey is involved. “Bela, if I tell you, this absolutely cannot leave this room. Nobody knows.” 

Isabela gasps with delight. “A secret? Come on, spill the dirt.” 

“You have a history of spilling everyone’s dirt.” 

“But you said no one else knows, so I’ll be the only one?” 

“Yes, which means I’ll know if you wag your lips!” 

“I do like the prospect of being the only one to know a secret of the city’s dearest Champion.” she croons. Hawke knows she has to give her something. 

“Okay so … I actually am, in fact, involved with someone. Which is why it would be incredibly inappropriate for me to have a drink with your handsome new friends.”

Isabela can barely control her glee. “You mean to say my very best friend in the entire world is getting her garden watered and she didn't bother to tell me? Who is it? I must know!” 

“Can't we just leave it at that?

“Don't you pull that on me! I am not letting you out of this room until I get a name. Oooh, it's someone I know, isn't it?” 

Hawke had hoped that revealing to Isabela that she regularly had a man in her bed would be enough to sate Isabela's curiosity, but no such luck. 

“This is the part that cannot leave this room. Everything is fragile and new and … well, I don’t want to scare him off again.”

Isabela’s face lifts into a brilliant smile. “You mean to tell me that gorgeous elf finally - “

“Yes. Fenris and I are together now.” she finishes before Isabela can suggest something lewd.

“For how long?”

“About a month.”

“A whole month? And not a word? Now I’m hurt.”

Even though Isabela teases, Hawke still feels she owes an explanation. “I’m sorry. Maker knows I’ve wanted to tell you a hundred times. It’s just been nice to have something private between Fenris and I. And while I’d love to take it public, I don’t want to pressure him. He’s come such a long way. You know how much he means to me.”

“I know,” Isabela puts her arm around Hawke. “You scared that if he feels too much pressure, he’ll take off again?”

“I … I don’t know. He’s shown me in so many ways that he has every intention of staying. But I’m afraid to lose him again.”

“Look, Fenris might not have expressed it in words, but it was always as clear as day that the man has been crazy about you for years.”

“I know.”

“Are you happy?” Hawke can't help but smile at Isabela's way of showing she cares. As much as Isabela sometimes tests the bounds of their friendship, she knows their companionship means as much to Isabela as it does to Hawke. 

“I am. I really am.”

“Good. It bloody took him long enough to get back into your skirts.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

“So,” the pirate drawls slowly. “How is he?”

“I knew this was coming.”

“You’ve got to give me something!”

“He’s wonderful, alright? Can we get back out there? The others will grow curious if we’re in here gossiping for too long.”

“Don’t I get any more than that?”

“For now? Prove that you won’t go blabbing to Varric the second we leave.”

“And risk missing out on all the juicy details? My lips are sealed.”

“Good. I want to tell the others on my own terms.”

“Well, with that out of the way, I have to ask. Can I watch sometime?”

“Isabela!”

“Please? I can mark it off my ‘fuckit’ list.”

“What in the Maker’s name is a - “

“A ‘fuckit’ list. You know, like a bucket list, only with … “

“No need to explain,” Hawke lets out a nervous laugh. “And the answer is no.” 

“You really are crushing all my hopes and dreams tonight. When did you become such a wet blanket?”

“Alright, that’s enough out of you. Let’s get back to the others. And behave yourself.”

“I always behave.”

The duo returns to Varric’s suite, their conversation coming to an abrupt halt upon the women’s reappearance. Hawke can feel her friends eyes bear into her, but she tries to act as casual as possible, taking a deep swig from her ale.

“I’ll be back,” Isabela says. “I have to tell my new friends they won’t be meeting the Champion tonight. They’ll be ever so disappointed.” Anders looks suspiciously at Hawke, and she feels her cheeks heat under his gaze. Damn her horrible game face! She never was very good at bluffing. 

“So?” Varric asks.

“So nothing. Let’s continue our game.” Varric doesn’t press for more, and Hawke is relieved. As much as a busy body as he could be, the dwarf rarely crossed boundaries. A minute later, Isabela returns, just in time for the next round. She swipes up the cards Varric deals her, and turns to Hawke with a smirk.

“You were right, Hawke. It will be twice as fun having two wicks to dip instead of one. Three is  _ never  _ a crowd in my books.”

“You know Rivaini, I really don’t want to be kept up all night again with your never ending exertions. The walls in here are paper thin you know,” Varric smirks.

“Then might I recommend sleeping under your pillow tonight?”

Hawke shakes her head, chuckling cheerfully. “I suppose they weren’t too terribly disappointed then?”

“I told them you had a lady problem and that was the end of it.”

“Is that really what you told them? That I have a ‘lady problem’?” She asks, slightly mortified.

“Yes. I knew it was the easiest way to avoid any mundane questions. You know how squeamish some men can get when it comes to our monthly friend.” Isabela takes a swig from her mug. “Not all men though. Some don’t mind a little blood.” Her eyes turn to Fenris, who once again is staring at his cards. “Fenris,” the Rivaini woman drawls, and the elf raises his eyes. “Did you know that if a lover has cramps, the best way to rid them of their pain is to give them a mind blowing orgasm?” 

Hawke stills. Was Isabela really trying to give him tips … in front of everyone? She supposed it wasn’t terribly unlike Isabela, but even so, her heart stops. She’s about to kick her friend under the table; giving away their relationship was the opposite of what they discussed in private, but Anders draws her attention away from the pirate.

“Taken an interest in the elf now, have you?” he waggles his eyebrows at Isabela. “I thought you had two capable men waiting downstairs for you.” the mage teases.

“Oh, I’ve always been interested,” Isabela smiles. “But, I’ll have my hands  _ full  _ tonight.”

“I suspect it will be more than your hands that are full,” Anders says.

“I do hope so. Anyways, what I said wasn’t a come on. I just figured Fenris could use some advice, in case he ever needs it,” she winks at the elf. He stares at her blankly for a few moments, then turns his gaze to Hawke, an unspoken question in his eyes. She quickly looks back to the cards in her hands, and without much pause, they continue their game.

Drinks flow and bets are lost as the night wears on. Hawke's pockets have become much lighter, a problem she silently blames on Isabela. The pirate's comments continue, choosing Fenris as the main target; asking him if any of the nobles in Hightown have ever caught his eye, wondering if he’s ever taken a human lover.  No one bats an eye as this is akin to any night with Isabela present. Fenris manages to dodge her questions, and when she can, Hawke interrupts with some nonsense about the weather or latest fashion trend in Hightown. Now and again, Fenris watches Hawke through his bangs, and she wonders how he can appear so impassive throughout Isabela's remarks. He shows absolutely no sign of caving under pressure, and for a moment, Hawke is jealous. Every emotion registers on her face, which really makes her a terrible gambler. After another hand is lost, she downs her mug.

“Honestly Hawke, sometimes I wonder why you even join us for Wicked Grace at all,” Varric pesters, gathering her lost coin in his pile. 

“I'll get you yet, one of these days,” she sighs. 

“Keep dreaming,” the dwarf says with mirth in his voice. She smiles then, warmth all but radiating in the room. It's not the game that keeps her coming, week after week, but the company she keeps. 

“Mind sharing some of your winnings, Varric? The clinic sure could handle being restocked after the week I've had.” 

“Nuh uh, Blondie. I won Hawke's coin fair and square. You want your cut? Get better at the game.” 

“Darktown still reeling from that virus?” Hawke asks the fellow mage.

“I think I've treated most of the sick. It quieted down by late afternoon. But my supplies took a heavy hit. I completely ran out of mana potions, which are a necessity for me when I have patients lined through the door. Their symptoms are easy to treat, usually. But in those numbers?” Anders sighs. 

“I'm glad you're finding some time to enjoy yourself, amongst the madness,” Hawke smiles. “In any case, I have plenty of potions at home. Why don't you come by tomorrow morning?”

“An early morning visit? Why Hawke, what will the neighbors say?” Anders gives her a grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I'm sure the neighbors are used to seeing people come and go from the estate at all hours. Sometimes, I do hate this title of mine,” Hawke whines dramatically. 

“A heavy burden to bear, I'm sure,” the mage responds, picking up a new card to add to his hand. “I'm sure you could find someone to help ease that burden, should you ever want to.” 

Hawke can practically feel the tension rising from Fenris’ stiff shoulders. She doesn't have to look across the table to know his mouth is in a tight line. Before she can respond, Isabela chimes in. 

“Now whose propositioning who?” she chuckles. “I think you need to do the demon’s dance even more than Hawke. I bet you're fit to burst.” The pirate smiles, glancing slowly from Anders to Hawke. 

Anders laughs, meeting Isabela’s intense gaze. “Believe me, it’s not for lack of trying.” Hawke’s breath catches in her throat then. Leave it to Anders to make things worse.

“Two Fereldan dogs in need of a bone. Would it really be so bad, Hawke? Have I ever told you about that electricity trick he can do?” 

“ _ Isabela,”  _ she sternly warns, but the pirate continues.

“You know how good he is with cats. Come on, Hawke. Let him feed your kitty.”

“Okay, that's enough!” Hawke says nervously. Anders and Varric are both laughing, finding Isabela’s exchange utterly amusing. Hawke finally glances at Fenris who has said nothing, but looks as though he could burn a hole through his cards. She'd thought tonight would have been a good night for them both, but she'd put Fenris in a position where he could say little if he wanted to avoid the whole group learning of their intimate relationship. She'd have strong words with Isabela later. Hawke’s no fool to the pirates games; she intended to break their little charade. It seemed best to leave. 

“I'm all out of coin,” she says. “I fold, and with that, it's time to head home.”

“Leaving so early? Got some  _ business  _ to tend to?” Isabela teases, clearly still wanting to play her game.

“Nope. Just a big bed whom I'm dearly missing.” 

“Alright, let's see what you all have,” Varric asks. Once again, as the cards are revealed, Fenris emerges victorious. The fifth time that night. 

“Damn Broody, you sure Rivaini didn't teach you any of her cheats?” the dwarf asks.

“Oh, there's plenty of things I'd love to teach him,” Isabela says. 

Hawke stands, ready to take her leave. Only Fenris hasn't said his line as practiced. Earlier, they'd gone over that when Hawke stood to leave, he was supposed to offer to walk her home, as he'd done countless times in the past. As skilled as she was, the streets were often dangerous, and when one was drinking, walking them alone was never a smart idea. She waits a few moments, before speaking up.

“Fenris, I've uh … had a few. Were you planning on staying long? I wouldn't mind having you accompany me on the walk home tonight.”

“I could make sure you get home safely,” Anders pipes in. Before she can politely decline Anders’ ridiculous offer to walk her in the complete opposite direction of his home, Fenris stands, having gathered up his winnings.

“No need.” 

Her eyes swipe across the room, to see if Varric or Anders have any suspicions. But Varric starts dealing a new game, and Anders looks none the wiser. Isabela of course, has her attention entirely on Hawke.

“Everyone, be safe tonight. Have fun with your dates,” Hawke smiles at Isabela.

“Oh, I do hope so. Have fun with your …  _ bed _ .” She pauses dramatically, once again making Hawke's breath catch in her throat. She would wring her neck if she tells the others after they leave.

“See you tomorrow morning?” Anders asks.

“Right. Tomorrow morning,” she reconfirms.

As they leave the room, Hawke hears a few coins plunk on the table. “Here Blondie, for your clinic,” Varric says, and Hawke can’t help but smile. 

As the duo push past the door leading out into the chilly night, Hawke scolds herself for not waiting to leave until Isabela joined her new friends. She'd be too occupied to run her mouth then.

It's a fairly quiet night, with few occupying the streets. As the boisterous voices from the Hanged Man murmur from the growing distance, Hawke glances up at Fenris. She'd hoped that leaving the company of others would allow him to relax somewhat, but he seemed just as uncomfortable as ever. Hawke practically sees the frustration burning in his eyes, but something else is there too. Something deeper. 

As Hawke is about to ease some of the tension with one of her terrible jokes, Fenris takes her lightly by the arm, and guides her to a back alley, out of sight from any passersby. “Our relationship,” he starts, pausing a moment. His voice is steady, but she can hear the question in his tone. “You’ve said you wish to keep this a secret from the others for the sake of privacy. Are you certain that’s the only reason?”

“Well, yes. I know you’re a very private person. And once the other’s know, well, they won’t stop bothering us for details.”

“And yet you had no qualms sharing with the pirate, the worst offender of them all.” He raises a brow. 

Busted. “Yes, well, if I hadn’t told her she probably would have dragged my ass down to meet Jimmy, or Jared or Jerry or whatever his name is,” she laughs nervously. When Fenris’ face remains steeled, she worries. “Alright Fenris, no more brooding. What is it?” Even when he says little, Hawke can always see when Fenris battles his own mind.

“The abomination. I know he has wanted you for some time. You did not seem bothered at all by what Isabela said about him … and you.” Ah. She wonders, is he more bothered by the dreadful biscuits in tea comment, or when Isabela encouraged that she take Anders to bed? She suspects both. Hawke had thought his face couldn’t possibly sour any more, but is proven wrong at Fenris’ recalling of Isabela’s crude statements, and Anders’ evident longing for Hawke. He almost looks pained by the implication. She wants to assuage all of his uncertainty, but she knows that at some point, she’d need to come clean about the history her and Anders share, as irrelevant as it is to their present. If it ever came out however, knowing how …  _ passionate  _ (jealous) Anders can be, it will be so much worse if Fenris hasn't heard it from her first. 

Hawke sighs. She’s known this conversation would come up sooner or later. She’d rather been hoping for later. Everything had been going so well between them.

“Anders has made his intentions about me known. On more than one occasion, but we discussed it long ago and he knows where I stand.”

“Has he never tried anything, other than stolen glances and flattery?”

Hawke bites her lip. “Can we … continue this conversation at home. Please?”

“So he has.” She can tell he strains to keep his jealousy at bay, but the seams are unraveling.

“Fenris, it’s a long story. Can we please continue this in private?”

The elf scoffs, and turns down the alley that leads to the main road. Hawke follows, but they speak no more.

Fenris walks as if in a great hurry, and Hawke trails a foot behind him, giving him some distance until they can talk. As he strides past her estate, she realizes he wants to converse in his mansion instead. He does not turn around to see if she follows. Her stomach roils nervously. They've been known to disagree from time to time, but never since being lovers. They've avoided the conversation of mages for weeks, neither wanting to break the initial stages of infatuation. She’s not afraid  _ of  _ him, but she fears that what she has to say might change how he feels for her, and that thought terrifies her so deep that she feels it in the depths of her soul.    
  


* * *

 

Fenris quickens his pace as the steps leading to his home appear. He'd planned on leading them to her home, as it was quicker and he was ready to get this conversation over with. His mind tortured him with images of Hawke and the abomination enough on the walk there. But his feet lead him astray, and Fenris realizes, amidst this uncertainty, he wishes to do this with familiar surroundings. Her home is still not his own, and if he needs to pace and rant, as is habit during times of great frustration, he does not want to disrupt her household. After what seems like an entire age, they reach his door.

When Hawke closes the door behind them, Fenris strides into the main hall. He turns to face her, but a part of him hesitates to open his mouth. These last weeks have been the best in his life. Is it all about to end? 

“Why did we come here instead?” Hawke asks, breaking the long silence. 

“In case I feel the need to throw something. I do not wish to ruin any of your belongings.” Hawke sighs. 

“It’s really not that big a deal.”

“Big enough that you needed to talk in private.” 

“It's complicated. And what happened with Anders didn't mean to me what it meant to him,” her voice quiets, nearly coming to a murmur. Fenris can't help but fear the worse.

“Did he …. Did he lay his hands on you when you were alone with him? Is he so depraved he would take advantage of your kindness?”

“You mean the other day at his clinic? No. Nothing like that. And what happened between us wasn’t recently.” He is relieved for a brief moment, but his stomach twinges as another thought takes its place. 

“So something did happen between you and that abomination then.”

Hawke casts her eyes to the floor, and Fenris completely stills. He thinks back to a few years prior. Some months after he abandoned her, when, for a time, she'd grown close to the mage. She’d even returned some of his flirtatious banter, but with a sudden change of the wind, ceased all interest. At the time, he thought perhaps his own jealousy played tricks. That his longing mind made him see Hawke take interest in Anders, when she thought him as nothing more than her friend. 

Perhaps that had all been wishful thinking, or blind ignorance. In those three long years that he left her aching and alone … did they ...?

Fenris’ stomach wants to churn. He doesn’t wish to hear any of this. But he has to know. If she lay with the abomination … what then? He would be upset, certainly, but he hadn’t the right to judge her for who she lay with. Especially if it was because of him that she sought the mage’s embrace instead of his own.

“I see,” he finally says after a long period of silence, and although he tries to mask his inner turmoil, his voice still comes out harsh.

“It wasn’t like that. I took no one to my bed in those years without you. Maker, there were times when I was tempted, but I couldn’t.”

Although his stomach is still completely in knots, relief washes over him, as if rain washing away blood stains from the stone after a hardened battle. His eyes search hers now that she looks up at him. His heart spasms as he sees the cloud of worry in her eyes. He wants to press her close to him, and soothe whatever worries her so, but he finds he is frozen in place. Instead, he says, “You couldn’t?”

“No.”

Fenris frowns. “So what did happen between you and the mage?”

“It was nearly a year after you’d left. And not long after Mother died. You remember that nasty business we had with Ser Alrik?” Fenris nods, and she continues. “Well, a few days after that, after we knew the truth about his ‘tranquil solution’, I came to check up on Anders. I’d been worried. We started talking about how relieved we were that it was the mad scheme of a lone templar, and not something far worse. I didn't want to believe that the Knight Commander might eventually make every circle mage tranquil. I couldn't handle thinking of that fate for so many mages. But it terrified me. For the first time in months, I was ready to fight for Anders’ cause.  _ Our  _ cause.” Hawke shuts her eyes for a moment, and when she opens them, they are filled with something resembling guilt. 

“You see, I lost a part of myself after mother died. I lost my will to fight for our freedom after coming face to face with the monstrosity that magic can cause. I thought of all the times you warned me, and how I still stood up for my kind, and it suddenly made me sick. I started to think of the horrors you must have seen and I… “ she pauses, her breath shaking. “Well, I lost faith in my fellow mages. And being in that cave with Anders and seeing the hatred in that Templar … seeing what he almost did to that poor girl. It brought me back a little. And I knew I had to speak up for those who are given no voice.” 

She lets out a rough breath, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve before she continues. “There were times over the years when it felt like Anders was my only friend who really understood me. I'm sorry if this upsets you, but it was how I felt. My father raised me with stories of the Circle, and Anders lived it. We fought for similar goals. After seeing what happened to mother, I realized that there’s a necessity for mages to be trained. Maybe not the way the Circle does it, but there has to be some middle ground. And Anders … well, he's willing to go through any lengths. I might not always agree with his methods, but when it comes down to it, we still want freedom for our people.” Hawke looks up at Fenris, and fidgets with her sleeves once more, a nervous habit of hers. “I'm rambling now, aren't I?” she laughs unsteadily. Fenris does not return her laughter, but nods for her to continue.

“Anyways, when I came to check up on him, Anders started thanking me for all I do for the mages in Kirkwall. He told me some things I won't repeat, but, they were of a romantic nature. After all the pain and loss and fear that had become my life, his words brought me a fraction of happiness. So, I flirted with him, and spurred him on … and he … well, he kissed me. And I kissed him back.” 

Fenris’ insides lurch. Thinking of Hawke’s lips against another's, Anders’ worst of all, cause his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach. Even though she assured him they’d not lain together, it seems almost more intimate than if she had let him inside of her.

“I was so lonely, Fenris. After mother’s death, it felt as if I had no one. I missed being held, and for a moment, I forgot about everything. He came to my estate later that night, looking for something more. I considered it but … “ a ragged breath leaves her throat.

“But?”

“He … he asked about you. If you and I were … well, if we were still involved. And it was then that I realised, if I were to let something more happen with Anders, I could lose you forever. He said all the right things, but … they were coming from the wrong person. I wanted to hear them from you. He would only be a distraction for me. I couldn’t return those feelings, not with you still in my heart. I might have liked Anders at one point in my life, but what you and I had … even in those early stages, well, nothing had ever been like that for me. He would be simply a distraction to me when I was his answer.” Hawke stops to take Fenris’ hand in her own. “You … you wore my family crest and never removed my ribbon. I didn’t know if that meant you would eventually return to me … but I knew it was a sign of your loyalty. I couldn’t risk losing you. Not then. Not ever.”

His throat constricts, tight, as a painful lump forms. He's not sure if he knows what it is that stirs so deeply inside of him, all he knows is he's never cherished anything so precious in his life. He did nothing to deserve her unwavering loyalty, and yet, she gave it so freely. She stands before him, feeling as if she needs to justify herself, as if she's wronged him. His own insecurities have caused her to worry, and that just will not do.

“I am sorry,” he finally finds his voice deep in his throat as he takes her hand in his own.

“I reacted poorly tonight. Sometimes I … struggle to find the sufficient words and I say things the wrong way,” he admits. Something else taken by Danarius. He’s still learning appropriate ways to assert his opinions. He's had a voice to give way to his opinions for years now, but his feelings and thoughts should not come at the cost of making Hawke feel guilt, or sadness, or nervous, as she’s been since leaving the Hanged Man.

“I know. We may need to work on your coping skills some time,” she responds softly, squeezing his hand. 

“If you do not lose your patience with me, than I would appreciate your guidance. I didn't mean to upset you tonight. I'm sorry if I’ve ruined everything.” 

“You ruined nothing. I was just afraid that if you knew that Anders kissed me, you would feel differently about us.”

“Hawke,” his voice comes out almost pained. “Never think such things. I am  _ yours _ .” 

A twinkle appears in her eyes, wet with emotion. She strokes his face and says “You mean the world to me.” 

Fenris pulls her against his frame, claiming her lips in a ferocious kiss. He kisses her in an attempt to erase all doubt from her mind. He will never leave her side, not for as long as she will have him. His body responds to the way she gasps and writhes against him during their deepening kiss.

“My room, Hawke,” he whispers against her neck. She laughs against him, taking him by his hand and leading the way. When they reach the landing however, he finds he cannot be without her mouth a moment longer. He drags her against him once more, fisting his hands into her hair as he ravishes her lips once more. He pulls her to the floor, and they find themselves wrapped up in one another, limbs entwined, bodies rubbing together to find relief from the pressure bursting from within. 

Their clothes are discarded without care in a pile beside them. He reaches in between their bodies to stroke her, and finds that she is soaked with desire. Hawke gasps, softly grasping at his shoulders. He rolls her from her side, onto her back. He places soft kisses on her lips, her neck, her clavicle, trailing a slow path down to where she wants his attention the most. Calloused hands part her sensitive thighs, stroking lightly as he does so. He settles between her legs, running his thumb up and down her swollen pearl. Her breath hitches, and he dips down to taste her nectar.

His tongue slides up and down her slit, gathering her taste upon his tongue. Hawke fists her fingers against her sides. When Fenris takes notice, he slides one of his hands up, and entwines his fingers through hers. He uses his other hand to press two fingers into her, and she grips his hand as he does so. His tongue laves her flesh, circling her nub in steady strokes. She chants his name, arching her back, and he would give anything to hear her say his name that way over and over again. His erection lies painful against the floor, but it is her pleasure that spurs him on. He licks her, tasting her, drawing her pleasure out of her. She blooms like a flower under the sun, slowly coming apart bit by bit under his care. A few more strategic lashes of tongue, and she comes apart, a harsh cry escaping her lips as she quivers around his fingers, dampening them with her release. 

As soon as he comes up for air, she pulls him against her, kissing him and tasting her flavor upon his tongue.

“I need you inside of me,” she whispers against his ear, and he will not deny her any longer. He slips inside of her easily, and it feels like coming home. No matter what happens throughout their days, being with Hawke, being  _ inside  _ of her is where he belongs. They fit together so perfectly, Fenris wonders if he was made specifically for her, and she for him. Perhaps everything he’s suffered happened in order to lead him to her. Sebastian often tells him that everything happens for a reason. If so, he would gladly endure it all again, if it meant he would find her.

His hips crash into hers, and Hawke tightens her legs around the small of his back. He slides in and out, slowly at first, but he cannot maintain a languid pace. Not tonight. He needs to show her how desperate he is for her. He quickens his movements, and is glad when she responds with increased moans of pleasure. Her fingers grasp at his flesh, pressing tight into his shoulders.

“Maker, Fen, that feels good,” she sighs, eyes shut tight. He cannot help but feel a surge of pride, knowing that he can cause her to feel this way. As unsure he’d been of his skills a few weeks prior, their frequent coupling has given him guidance on what pleases her. He wants to make her come undone once more before they finish, and he can feel himself beginning to falter. He withdraws from her warmth, and she whines in protest. It takes great effort to stop himself for plunging back into her, taking her until he is spent and sated. But he wants to wring one last orgasm from her before he takes his pleasure.

Fenris kneels between her spread legs. He pushes two fingers into her, using the pad of his index finger from his free hand to flick against her bud. Hawke trembles under his ministrations. He watches her closely. Her eyes are shut, head thrown back, body quivering under his caress. He touches her as she has taught him - the way she touches herself when he is not in her bed. The velvet warmth within her flutters across his fingers, and a wry smile forms on his lips. He loves watching her come apart for him.

“I can feel you getting closer,” he says, and her entire body shudders in response. She’s told him many times how much his voice affects her. She moans, her climax mounting. He knows she needs just a little more.

“Let yourself go, Hawke. Give in to the pleasure. Give in to  _ me _ .”

His words barely leave his lips when she convulses around his fingers, her voice high pitched as she cries out his name once more. His cock twitches as she keens, her channel coating his fingers once again with her essence. When she finally opens her eyes, and he knows she is watching him, he takes his fingers, sucking them clean. 

“You are almost too much for me,” she sighs, sitting up.

“Almost?”

“Almost.”

“Then I am not trying hard enough,” he responds with a growl, kissing her hard. He’s about to topple her onto her back and take her once more, but finds himself on his back instead with her laughing against the skin of his neck.

“My turn,” she says, her hand gripping his member hard. Fenris groans, closing his eyes to savor the sensation of his flesh in her hands. His eyes fly open, however, when he feels her soft mouth around his cock.

She moans, a lustful and wantan sound, as her eyes meet his on her descent. She takes him fully in her mouth, and bobs her head up and down, lips wrapped tight around him. He will never tire of this sight, completely enraptured by the beautiful creature before him, focusing solely on his pleasure. He tries not to allow her to do this for him too often, fearing it will be all he can fixate on, should she over indulge him. It’s a welcome sight, but there’s a part of him that still feels out of place to be on the receiving end … that someone wants to focus on his pleasure alone. He does not linger on this thought long, as she slurps greedily on his flesh, causing a ripple of pleasure at the base of his spine. His cock swells in her mouth.

“I’m … I’m about to - “ he tries to warn her, but she does not pull away. His seed erupts on her tongue, and she noisily swallows his spend. He shudders, watching her the entire time, every nerve in his body aflame with blinding euphoria. When she has sucked him dry, she climbs into his arms, resting her head against his chest. 

“You're all sweaty,” she murmurs against him.

“I wonder why that would be.” He runs a hand down her back. “Your skin isn't exactly dry, either.” 

She giggles then, sounding blissfully at peace to be there, wrapped up in his arms. He wishes it could always be this way. Just the two of them, no Knight Commander or helpless citizens to drag her from his embrace. No nosey companions to question their relationship. Just him and her, sated and entangled in one another.

“I do hope Isabela hasn't told the others,” she sighs, running a finger down his chest.

“I imagine she's a bit occupied at the moment.”

“I suppose you're right,” she laughs. Hawke turns, so she is looking into his eyes. “It did feel kind of nice, being able to tell her about us.”

“Are you sure you're feeling well?” he jests, and she swats his arm.

“I'm being serious. She's my friend. And you're my lover. Friends sometimes share details about such things.”

“And exactly what did you tell her?”

“Only that we're together. Don't worry, I won't go spilling all your dirty little secrets. Those are for me, and only me, to know,” she says before placing a quick kiss on his lips. “Just like these lips are just for me.”

“Who else would they belong to?” he asks, pulling her possessively to his chest. Hawke hums in his embrace, warm and pliant against him.

“You know, if you ever wanted to confide in a close friend about our relationship, I wouldn't mind. It's nice having someone to talk to.”

“I have you. What more do I need?”

“I love that you share things with me. But if you ever needed to share with someone else, I won't mind. I'm simply saying it's okay to share a few details about our relationship with others, if that's what you want.”

“I think you must be mistaking me for someone else entirely. Just which ‘friends’ do you think I gossip with?”

“Well, I know you and Sebastian have grown close. And there's always Donnic. I know you enjoy spending time with him,” she smiles and begins to play with his hair. “I don't presume to know what you discuss when I'm not around, but if you ever needed a friend to talk to that isn't me, I'm saying I understand. Isabela is that person for me. And tonight, it felt good to get everything off my chest.”

“Do you … want to tell the others? About us?”

“A part of me does. But let's wait a little longer. I don't want to deal with the hordes of questions or any dramatics that may occur.” 

Fenris knows she means Anders. Of all the people he wants to reveal their relationship to, most of all, it is the mage. He supposes it petty to wish to rub it in the other man's face, but he can't help the wry smile that forms on his lips when he thinks of the shocked look that will no doubt plague the mage’s face when Hawke tells him. 

“Whenever you are ready,” he says, kissing the top of her head.”

After some time, he scoops her into his arms and carries her to his bed, where they sleep until dawn breaks through his windows, the rays of light invading through a parted curtain.

Much like their relationship was about to be invaded upon, whether they wanted it to or not.

* * *

  
  
  


**_End notes: So, I felt bad for gendering periods here and having Isabela call them a ‘lady problem’. It was bothersome for me, but felt with the setting, something Isabela might say. I tried to keep the rest of the conversation gender neutral, by having Isabela resume with “if a lover has cramps,” instead of “if your woman has cramps”. I do apologize to any of my non-binary readers if this was at all offensive. Any suggestions for less gendered language is always welcome. I see you, I hear you, I respect you._ **

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Hawke rises early. Peering over her shoulder, she sees that Fenris still sleeps soundly beside her. She thinks to wake him, but he looks so peaceful and undisturbed in his slumber. Reluctantly, she leaves the warmth and comfort of his bed. As she carefully steps on the cold floor, she wonders, just where did her clothes run off to?  _ Ah, the hallway,  _ she recollects from the night before _. _ Quietly padding away from the bed, she takes a few steps forward.

“Leaving so soon?”

She turns to see Fenris laying on his side, head in hand, watching her with rapt interest. It seemed impossible to rouse without disturbing his sleep. For a moment, she wishes she had one of his sheets wrapped around her. He’s seen her naked many times, but she feels especially exposed in the light of morning.

“I need to get dressed. Anders is coming by at some point this morning, if he hasn’t already, so I need to get back to the estate.”

The elf climbs out of bed, going to one of his dresser’s and pulling out a few garments of clothing.

“You don’t need to see me to the door, Fenris. Go back to sleep. It’s early.”

“I’m coming with you,” he says, pulling on a pair of smalls.

“You’re coming with me?” 

“Is that a problem?” he asks, buttoning up one of his casual shirts, black, like the majority of his clothes. Not that she minds. She’s always been drawn to the aesthetic of dark colours, and the black is such a contrast to his pale hair, it makes his features stand out.

“No, I just didn’t realise we had anything planned for the day.” She walks out to the hallway, and begins to dress herself in the clothing she wore the night before. She thinks she ought to have a pair of fresh clothing at his place, just in case.

“I thought perhaps I could work on my penmanship.” He says, coming to stand beside her. Hawke pulls her hair from the collar of her robes, trying to look half decent before taking to the streets.

“Oh? Is this something you absolutely must do in my presence?” she asks playfully, running a finger down his front. “This has nothing at all to do with who I’m expecting?”

He says nothing then, and Hawke chuckles. “That’s what I thought. Now, I don’t mind having you over. In fact, I quite like your presence in my home. But, I have to ask. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I do,” he sighs. “It’s the abomination I take issue with. After some of the comments made last night … .”

“Those were Isabela’s comments.”

“Not all of them. He still yearns for you, Hawke.”

“He knows better than to try anything. I promise, you have nothing to worry about.” She strokes a finger under his chin. “You can be present today. But there are going to be times when I’m alone with Anders. That’s just the way of things. I’m going to need you to understand that.”

Fenris stills for a moment, then pulls her tight against him, kissing her forehead. “I trust you, Hawke. I care nothing for the mage. But I trust you.”

“Thank you,” she smiles. She knows that trust doesn’t come easily to Fenris. Having his trust meant a great deal to her, more than she could ever express. So she simply smiles and says. “Thank you.” The words are insufficient to express her gratitude, but they would do for now.

* * *

  
  


Bodahn greets the duo upon their arrival, a cheerful tone in his voice. 

“Welcome home, Mistress Hawke, Master Fenris. I hope the morning is treating you well.”

“And you as well, Bodahn. Has Anders happened to stop by yet?”

“No Messere, I can’t say that he has.”

“If he comes by, can you let him know I’ll be in the study?”

“Of course. Is there anything else you need?”

“We’ll be fine.”

Upon entering the study, Hawke goes straight to her desk. She sets a stack of parchment next to her quill.

“Take a seat. You wanted to practise your cursive, so that’s exactly what you’re going to be doing. Let me find a book for you to work from.”

She climbs the stairs to her library, scaling her books for something not too advanced. While Fenris has come miles with his reading and very seldomly struggles with sounding out words, his script on the other hand, is an entirely different story. Over the years, he’d continued reading on his own, but never stuck with the physical application of taking a quill to parchment. In the days since they reconciled, she’s resumed her lessons. Fenris has proven more than capable of practising on his own, but she’s unsure just how often he takes the time to apply the skill without her encouraging him to do so.

Hawke settles on ‘ _ Aveline, Knight of Orlais’.  _ Fenris once said he wasn’t familiar with the tale, and while her friend Aveline would hate that she chose this particular story, Fenris would at least be able to spell her name correctly, if ever he’d needed to send her a letter. Educational and practical, the perfect book for him to work with. 

When she returns to the desk, Hawke places the book in front of him. “Here. Practise writing lines from this book. I’ll be back in a few minutes. I just need to change out of these clothes. Nothing says ‘I didn’t come home last night’ quite like being seen in what you wore out the evening before.” 

“Leave it to the abomination to notice something as irrelevant as what you wore last night,” Fenris scoffs, and Hawke rolls her eyes.

“In this case, it’s very much relevant, if we’re trying to be discreet here. Stop fixating on Anders, and get to work.” Satisfied upon seeing him open the book and dipping his quill into the inkwell, she ambles up the stairs to find something clean to wear.

When she enters her quarters, Hawke heads straight for her bureau. She pulls out her finery, slipping on the burgundy shirt and skirt, along with a clean pair of small clothes. She’s never worn her finery out of the house. Her Mother would have had an absolute fit due to the length of the skirt. But it is one of the favorite outfits she owns, the material soft and comfortable. Some of the robes she often wears on errands, while beneficial during a battle, weren’t the most comfortable. Her finery though, she would wear every day if possible.

Once dressed, she applies a few dabs of perfume behind her ears, as she’s not sure if she has the time for a proper bath. Hawke wishes she’d set a specific time with Anders, but it is too late for such thoughts now. The fragrance of the perfume resembles white roses with a hint of amber, sweet with a touch of musk. She sits at her desk and spends a few moments making herself more presentable for company. She rims her eyes with kohl, applies a flesh toned powder to cover up her dark circles from apparent lack of sleep (thanks to the elf she shares a bed with and his never tiring libido), and swipes a wine stained tint across her lips, erasing all traces of last nights makeup and the smell of clothes dirtied from spending the night on Fenris’ less than clean floor. 

When Hawke enters the study, potions for Anders in hand **,** Fenris has filled most of a page with his writing. She watches from over his shoulder. His letters have begun to look more sophisticated than they had a few weeks before, less spacey and large. She smiles. Perhaps he has been practising on his own.

He finally turns to look up at her, placing the quill down. His eyes search her, and she suddenly feels as if on display. “You smell of perfume.”

“I do,” she says, placing the potions atop of the desk.

“And you’ve applied cosmetics to your face.”

“How observant of you. Not many men notice such things,” she laughs.

“Why have you gone out of your way to primp yourself for the mage?” He asks in a careful, even tone, and although her first reaction is to be annoyed, she can see the uncertainty in his eyes. Hawke takes the seat beside him, and lays her hand on his.

“I didn’t do this for Anders. It’s something I do daily, Fenris. When Mother and I moved into the estate, she was very fixated on appearances. She’d reprimand me any time I stepped out of the house without doing my hair a certain way or without rouge on my cheeks. Honestly, I do it out of habit now more than anything. And if I am perfectly honest, it’s a way to remember my mother for ten minutes out of the day.” She sighs. Bringing up her mother still weighs heavy on her heart at times. “Does that satisfy you?”

The elf says nothing, but casts his gaze down to book he’d been working on. She can see it in his face that he’s regretting his words. They are silent for a few long moments. Fenris finally resumes his task, picking up the quill and forming words with long strokes. After a minute, he breaks the silence.

“Why are you so fascinated with watching me write? I can’t imagine it’s of great interest.”

“It soothes me. Plus, I enjoy seeing how far you’ve come. I’m proud of you, you know.”

He smiles then, bashfully looking down at his own writing. His eyes are hidden behind long wisps of white hair, so she reaches forward, brushing his strands away from him eyes. He nearly melts into her touch, so she allows her hand to linger a moment longer. He takes her hand in his then, kissing her wrist, locking eyes with her own. Hawke’s heart flutters. She wonders, will he always look at her with such tenderness in his eyes?

As he continues to practice, she reads over some of her letters, sorting them by importance. As she’s reading a particularly drab letter from Seneschal Bran, Fenris’ smooth voice breaks the silence in the room.

“You are proving to be a distraction.”

“Am I?” she asks, placing the letter down.

“Not an unwelcome one,” he says. He drops the quill, and runs his ink stained hand up her leg. “So much skin begging to be looked upon. Do you have any idea how much you’ve affected my concentration over the years, whenever I came to visit you here in your home? I know how much it must have the same effect on others who step through your door to be greeted with such a sight.”

She smirks at him. “You’ve seen much more of my skin in recent days. I doubt seeing a bit of leg is enough to break you, Fenris.”

“You clearly are unaware of how alluring you are.” His hand ventures further still, resting at the top of her thigh. He circles her sensitive skin, and all blood seems to rush south, her nethers becoming damp as he teases her. 

“You say I’m the distracting one?” she nods towards his hand. Fenris responds with a low hum, one that vibrates deep within his chest. He ignores her question, and continues to tease her with hands and voice.

“You’ve no idea how difficult it was to hide my desire for you. Even during your dinner parties you insisted we all attend. In a room full of others, anytime you wore this,” he pulls at the bottom of her skirt for good measure, before returning his hand to her thigh, “I was drawn to the curve of your hips, the swell of your ass, the smooth skin that runs along your legs. I could pay attention to little else. I know it was the same for the mage. He was not so discreet in his longing for you. His eyes held no shame, nor did he bother trying to avert his gaze.”

“Must we really talk about him again?” Hawke sighs. Before she knows it, Fenris pulls her to him, kissing her roughly. She whimpers in shock at first, but gladly allows his tongue to pass her lips. His fingers lace through her hair, pulling her even closer to him.

Fenris stands, grabbing his chair and turning it around so that it’s not pulled towards to desk, but that it faces the door. He sits back down, and gestures for her to climb into his lap. She stands, but then glances at the doorway, which is still open.

“Bit of an exhibitionist?” she raises a brow, laughter in her voice. “You surprise me every day.” Fenris returns her smile, and her stomach flutters in response. She wants to go to him, but she hesitates. ”Anders could show up any minute.”

“Or you could be waiting for him all day. Forget the mage. If he arrives, he can wait until I am finished with you.” Hawke bites her bottom lip. She can feel how flushed her cheeks are, how damp her smalls have become.

“You and that voice,” she exhales, her own nearly shaking with want.

”Close the door”, he growls, and all her resolve shatters. She rushes to the study entrance, closes the door, and strides over to his chair. Fenris pulls her onto his lap so that she straddles him, her legs planted firmly on the floor on each side of him. The material of her skirt rides up, making it much easier to be close to him. He kisses her again, his hard member pressing against her smalls. Hawke begins to writhe against his lap, swerving her hips back and forth, gracefully moving as if in a dance. A dance they’ve performed together and nearly perfected many times.

“Take these off,” he whispers in her ear, pulling at the material of her smalls. She stands once more, her legs feeling as wobbly as a newborn colt. She slips out of her skirt and smalls, while Fenris removes himself of all clothing below the waist. Desperate for his touch, she wastes no time climbing back into his lap, no clothing to create a barrier between them this time.

Fenris pushes his fingers into her, preparing her for him. She’s slightly embarrassed at how easily two slip inside of her. No one has ever aroused her as much as Fenris, and with such little effort. All he ever needs to do is to look at her with that dark predatory gaze in his eyes when he wants her, and she is completely soaked. Hawke bats at his hand, and he withdraws his fingers. Lowering herself onto his erection, he slips inside at last. A sharp intake of breath rushes from her lungs at the way he stretches her, filling her, completing her. 

She rides him, slowly moving her hips up and down. Hawke grasps at the chair's backing, giving her extra support to bounce up and down in his lap. Having her feet planted on the floor assists in her movements, allowing her to move at the exact pace she desires. It's not often that she takes the lead, but even with her on top, they both know Fenris is in control; an arrangement they both enjoy. Hawke moans softly, trying her best to keep as quiet as possible. She can't help the pleased whimpers that push past her lips - he feels entirely too good inside of her to keep completely silent. It seems the quieter she is, the more Fenris desires to make her scream.

He takes hold of her hips, and thrusts into her tight sheath, again and again. His pelvis grinds against her throbbing clit, and with a shrill sigh, she gasps, “Do that again.” Fenris chuckles, and repeats the motion that has her keening and clinging onto him. She gyrates her hips against his, seeking out more of that delicious friction. Pleasure builds inside her, starting deep in her belly, spreading all the way down to her toes. She chases it, clinging on to her lover desperately as she sways her hips into his. Her orgasm crashes into her like waves rolling over the tide during a storm, lapping at her every nerve. Hawke muffles her cries into the crook of Fenris’ neck, sobbing as her body crashes around him. He grabs her ass, taking over as she slumps against him. His hard length pistons in and out of her, while he grunts into her ear. She knows he grows close with his abandoned groans and quickening pace. Hawke urges him along by suckling the lobe of his ear between her lips, worrying it with little nips of teeth. Strong fingers grasp her ass harder, lifting her up and down, bouncing her along his cock. She mewls in response, the idea of him using her body to find his release arousing her beyond comprehension.

Amidst her growing arousal, vaguely she hears Bodahn’s voice, muffled beyond the closed door to the study. Suddenly, her heart is in her stomach. 

“Fenris,” she whines. “Fenris, I think he’s here.” Hawke grows quiet and sits upright, but Fenris stills her, gently holding her to his chest. 

He suckles her neck “Let him hear you.” Hawke bits down on her lip, not quite giving in to his request, but letting out a small whimper at his display of authority. She supposes it won't hurt Anders to wait for her a few minutes until Fenris has finished. If his erratic thrusts are any indicator, she knows he will not last long.

But before she can even urge him on with encouraged words, the door directly behind her opens. 

“Hawke I - “ comes Anders’ voice, his words dying in his throat. Hawke turns her head, her eyes briefly meeting Anders, whose mouth hangs open, one foot past the threshold, the rest of him seeming frozen in place. His eyes look as though they’re glued to her - to where she and Fenris are joined, where Fenris, despite the audience, continues to thrust into her.

“Fenris,” she squeaks, an attempt to protest, but her voice comes out more of a moan than as a request. Mortified, she buries her head against his shoulder.

“Leave us, mage. Hawke will join you when we are finished.”

Anders, to her surprise, does not have anything to say  _ (a first, she thinks) _ . He simply slips out of the room, shutting the door behind him. Hawke lets out a ragged breath, her heart continuously thundering in her chest. A blush spreads across her cheeks as she thinks how he must have seen her …  _ all of her _ . Mere seconds later, Fenris lets out a moan, spilling himself inside of her. 

Hawke feels as if in a daze, her mind barely unable to comprehend what has happened. She peers down at Fenris, who looks as smug as ever. He slips out of her, and she can’t help but smack his arm.

“You didn’t even stop,” she says in disbelief.

“The mage didn’t bother to knock. Anything he saw was of his own doing.”

“Fenris,” Hawke sighs, climbing off of him. “This really wasn’t how I wanted him to find out.” Hawke gathers her clothes from the floor, slipping back into her smalls and skirt. She hands Fenris his bottoms, and he redresses as well. Her blushing has not stopped, if anything, grows worse. Hawke looks into his eyes as she straightens out her clothes, part of her annoyed, but a part of her incredibly aroused. “You just got off on him walking in on us didn’t you?” Fenris responds with a sheepish smile. “Did you plan for this?” she asks.

“The thought may have crossed my mind.”

Hawke exhales, running a hand through her locks in an attempt to make herself look more put together. Not that it would make a difference, Anders being well aware of what she’d just been doing. Fenris steps close to her, his brow suddenly ebbed with guilt.

“I … I don’t know what came over me. It will not happen again.”

Hawke squeezes his hand. She’d be lying if she were to say a part of her isn't ridiculously aroused that they’d just been caught in the act. Knowing that her former flame witnessed her getting rammed by her lover somehow thrills her, even if she does feel guilty for catching him so off guard. Surely, there will be unfortunate consequences for their tryst, however, she can’t deny how excited the whole idea makes her. She knows she will be thinking about this moment for some time to come, even if the idea of actually facing Anders makes her whole face aflame.

“Yes well … you’re lucky I’m so understanding.” she kisses him on the cheek. “Now, I suppose I should go see if he’s still waiting for me.” Hawke picks up the potions she’d left on the desk, takes a deep breath, and leaves the study.

When she enters the main hall, she only sees Bodahn. “Is ah … is Anders still here or did he leave?” she asks sheepishly. 

“He is waiting for you in the kitchen, Messere,” the dwarf responds, as polite as always, giving no hint as to whether or not he’d heard her and Fenris’ tryst, something she is deeply grateful for.

“Thank you, Bodahn,” she replies, avoiding meeting his eyes. With slow steps, Hawke enters the kitchen. Anders leans against the counter, facing her with arms folded against his chest. Long gone is the look of pure shock, replaced with narrowed eyes and lips tightly pursed together.

“Here’s the potions I promised,” Hawke mutters, handing him them to him. She averts her gaze, unable to so much as look at him. She takes a few steps back, partly mortified that he may be able to smell Fenris on her. After a long pause, Anders breaks the silence.

“Are you out of your mind?” Now she can’t help but look into his face. He is angry, that much is certain, but it’s not just anger that is displayed in his eyes. Concern laced through his voice, he continues before allowing her to respond. “Do you not remember how he hurt you? All the things he’s said of mages? He thinks we all deserve to be locked away in the circle, to have the Templars leave us there until we rot. That means  _ you, _ Hawke. You are not exempt from his ire.” 

”Anders, please. This does not concern you.” 

“That’s right, mage.” Fenris says, stepping up beside her. Hawke’s entire body tenses. She had hoped he would wait in the study until this unbearable conversation was over. She’s heard the two of them argue often enough over the years. But this time, it would be different. She is the subject of their discontent. Hawke knows Anders still harbours some sort of romantic feelings for her. She’s never wanted to hurt him, but he would need to come to terms with the fact that she was with Fenris now, and intended to be for a very long time. She watches as Anders’ eyes dart between her and the elf.

”He doesn’t deserve you.” 

“Oh? And you do?” Fenris retorts, sarcasm heavy in his tone. 

”Who else knows about this? Am I the last one?” Even if he tries to hide it, there is no denying the hurt that comes through in his voice.

“Only Isabela, and now you,” Hawke responds as gently as possible. “Please don’t say anything to the others yet.”

“Why be with him if you’re so ashamed?” Anders challenges, and Fenris nearly growls. She’d hoped on avoiding a confrontation with Anders when their relationship came to light. It appeared, as much as she wanted, there was no avoiding it.

“I’m not ashamed of anything. I just don’t want other people sticking their noses in our business. Much like you’re doing now.” Hawke runs a hand through her hair, letting out a shaky breath.  “Things are different than they were before. I’m happy, can’t we leave it at that?” She pleads with him, her eyes seeking his own for a fraction of understanding.

Anders sighs, sounding defeated. “Fine. The others won’t hear it from me. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

“Thank you, Anders.” She lets out a relieved breath. The mage turns his eyes to Fenris.

“Be good to her elf. I will never understand what Hawke sees in you, but she deserves to be happy. And if I can’t be the one who - “ he stops himself, shifting his eyes to Hawke momentarily. “Just be good to her. She deserves that much.”

No more words are shared, and Anders hastily leaves the estate, potions in hand. When they are left in silence, Hawke awkwardly turns to Fenris. “Well, that’s another one down,” she laughs nervously. Fenris appears lost in thought. Hawke runs a hand down his arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

“I never thought to hear the mage care for something other than his own selfish desires.”

“There’s a lot more to Anders than what you see on the surface. He cares about people, sometimes too much. It’s not just mages he treats in his clinic, you know.”

“I’m not about to befriend him, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Maker, can you imagine the shock on our friends faces if you two made amends? Oh! It would take the heat off of our relationship. That’s not a half bad idea, you know.”

“Hawke,” he says in warning, and she laughs.

“You know I’m only teasing. I doubt I’ll even be able to step foot in his clinic anytime soon. I could barely look him in the eye. Maker Fenris, when you and I were … he must have seen  _ everything _ .”

Fenris smirks. “I’m quite certain he’s imagined you naked hundreds of times before.”

“That … you don’t know that. And even if he has, it’s quite different than seeing the real thing. Seeing you inside of me,” she blushes, and feels a quiver run down her spine when Fenris gazes upon her.

“And now, he knows you’re mine. That I’ve claimed not only your heart, but your body as well,” he responds by pulling her against him, and kissing her with wild abandon. A startled gasp passes her lips when she feels how aroused he’s already become. Hawke pulls away, lips puffy from his nipping teeth.

“What’s gotten into you?” she says, an amused smile playing upon her features. As he starts to pull back, she wraps her arms around his neck. “Not that I’m complaining. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“Come with me,” he urges, grabbing her hand. Fenris leads her through the living room, and she is glad Bodahn has moved elsewhere in the estate. She’s surprised when Fenris does not take her to her bedroom, but back to the study instead. He closes the door, and hastily moves to the desk, swiping it clear of all of its contents. Her inkwell crashes to the floor, coating her floor in black ink.

“Fenris,” she gasps, laughter in her voice. He stands behind her, placing a strong hand at the base of her throat. 

“Bend over the desk, Hawke.”

“Who am I to refuse such a delicious request?” She saunters over to the desk, adding an extra sway in her hips. She leans over the length of it, her skirt hiking up, displaying the round curves of her ass. Moments later, he presses behind her, freeing his erection from his trousers. He pulls her smalls to the side, and enters her in one quick stroke. She’s still soaked from their previous joining, so he slips in with ease.

Rutting against her hips, Fenris takes her again and again, roughly pushing into her. She can’t help the growing moans that fall from her lips. As scared as she’s been to tell him of her submissive desires, the way he’s displaying dominance over her isn’t a far cry from what she’d fantasized in the years without his touch.

“Yes, Fenris,” she gasps. “More.”

“If only he could see you now ... hear how you beg for my touch.”

Her cunt clenches at the sound of his words. She’s not sure what it is about Anders’ presence that affects him so, but Fenris does not often give voice to his desires, and she wishes to hear them more, so she begins to push back against his thrusts, goading him on. 

“You like the idea of him watching you fuck me?” She’s almost embarrassed as the words sneak past her lips, but his deep moan in response sets her on fire.

“I would have him sit in that chair over there. The one that we were in when he walked in on us. He would sit and watch as I take you like I am now. He would watch, but he could never touch. He would simply get a taste of what he’s missing, and be sent on his way home after I send my seed deep inside your womb, marking you as mine. He would always think of it when he lays eyes on you, and he’d know you are mine.”

“Maker Fenris,” she keens, her entire body trembling in response to his naughty words. “I’m so close already.”

“Touch yourself for me,” he whispers in her ear. One of her hand snakes down in between herself and the desk. Her finger pad swirls around her clit, bringing her that much closer to climax. An ever familiar tingle goes straight to her nethers, and she begins to clamp around him, her pleasure mounting from within.

“Fenris,” she gasps.

“Hawke,” he grunts, pushing himself in and out, hips snapping wildly against her. A loud wail signals her end, her inner muscles fluttering against his cock. Fenris empties within her, fingers gripping her flesh. 

She slumps back against him, her flesh tender from being pressed into the wood of the desk. Light laughter fills the room as she turns in his arms, throwing her arms around his neck.

“Should my ego be bruised, that laughter finds you so soon after we’ve been intimate?” he teases, kissing her neck and holding her close to him.

“I was just thinking … perhaps I should invite Anders over more often.”

Fenris sighs, shaking his head. “You will be the death of me.”

* * *

  
  
  


**_A/N:_ ** Did I perhaps take inspiration from one of my early chapters in Equilateral, and swap out the roles of Anders and Fenris? Yes, yes I did. Haha. I apologize if this scene was vaguely familiar. I maybe have a thing for Anders or Fenris catching Hawke in the act with her lover. Sexy times AND angst … who can blame me?


	8. Chapter 8

“What are you reading?” 

Hawke looks up from her book. She turns her gaze to the elf in her bed who, up until now, she thought was sleeping. “Good morning to you too.”

Fenris hums in response, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder. Hawke sets her book in her lap, and runs her fingers through Fenris’ hair, mussed from a night of sleep. His eyes glance over the title of the book. “Songs of the heart”.

“It was a gift from my father. One of the few things that escaped Lothering.”

He looks over the worn cover. “You’ve read this one often.”

“It reminds me of a simpler time. Sometimes I miss the days of my youth, before I came to Kirkwall. Before I became the “Champion”. Times were … easier then.”

“Are you not happy here?” his brows arch in concern.

“I wouldn’t say I’m unhappy. I have plenty of coin, a beautiful home, wonderful friends. I have you.” She smiles. “I just sometimes wish I could go back to being a simple farm girl. Sure, money was a little tight from time to time, but things were far less stressful than they are now.”

“You could never be simple, Hawke. A farmer perhaps. But simple? Never.”

She laughs, cozying up beside him. “You think you could ever enjoy a life on a farm? No mercenary jobs, no fighting?”

“It often seems fighting is all I’ve known. I was conditioned for it. Perhaps I would enjoy a different life.”

“So, shall we run away and leave everything behind?”

“If it would please you. I would follow you wherever.”

Her heart dances beneath her chest. “You’re sweet.” Hawke sighs. “Maybe one day. But Kirkwall needs me. Besides, I’ve built a life here.” As much as she sometimes longs for the simplicity of farm life, she could never leave her friends behind. Her merry band of misfits had become a dysfunctional family in their own right, and she loved each and every one of them dearly.

“So, what is that book of yours about?”

“It’s just a silly, romantic book of poems. There are passages about friendship, family, but mostly about love. I had very foolish notions about romance as a girl, you see. The world hardened me for a time, and I gave up on my romantic ideals. But … with you, I’m starting to see the colours behind the words again.”

“Do you have a favorite passage?”

“I do,” she flips through her book, landing on a page that’s edges have been folded over time and again. A blush rises to her cheeks. “Are you sure you want to hear it?”

“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”

Hawke lets out a steady breath, her eyes studying the page for a few moments.  _ “Oh be still, dear heart, beating so fast. My love grows evermore, for a time that will last. In my dreams I see, whom I long for all day. Never wanting to part, do not send my love away. For if I shall draw one more breath without cherished lips upon mine, forever I will mourn, the loss of thine. Thine lips, thine hands, thine flesh, thine heart. Come to me now, never again shall we part.” _ Hawke laughs nervously. “I honestly didn’t have to read the page. I’ve had this one memorised for years.”

“Is there a reason why you cherish it so?”

“In Lothering, we were very isolated. Father always told us how important it was for us to keep to ourselves. To stay out of trouble. I made some friends, but I always had to keep them at a distance. No one really knew the real me. I longed to have someone I could open my heart to. Someone I could truly be myself around. This poem gave me hope as a girl, that one day, I might find him. For years, I thought it was a naive dream. Until you. So, I guess you could say this little poem bares great meaning to me now, more than ever.”

Fenris stares at her a few moments. “You always see the good in others, Hawke. Sometimes, I wonder what it is you see in me. You could have chosen anyone, and yet, here I am, in your bed.”

“I wish you wouldn’t think so lowly of yourself.”

“A slaves habit, perhaps.”

“But you aren't a slave. Not anymore.” She places the book down. “You know what I see? I see a brave man. A man who is hardened, yet kind to those he cares about. A man who has been through the void and back, a man who, despite all the hardships life has thrown his way, still laughs and takes pleasure whenever he can. It would have been easy for you to walk away from me altogether when you discovered I was a mage, and yet you didn’t.”

“To be fair, I owed you a debt.”

“And yet, you stayed around long after that debt was paid. You allowed me, a mage, into your home countless nights. You shared wine with me, told me secrets, you trusted me. And that trust evolved into something much deeper. When I look at you Fenris, I am inspired by all that you are, and all that we can be, together.”

He pulls her to his chest, holding her close. “You truly are a romantic, aren’t you? However will I measure up to those poems of yours?”

She laughs, planting a chaste kiss on his chin. “I don’t need any fancy words or proclamations of undying love. I only need you, just as you are.”   
  


* * *

 

Later that week while he is home, a letter arrives at Fenris’ door. It bears the Amell seal, so Fenris immediately opens it. 

_ Your presence is requested on the third of Frumentum _

_ To honour the name-day of Lady Hawke _

_ The festivities will be held at the Amell estate _

_ Dinner will be served at the sixth bell, drinks to follow _

He re-reads the invitation several times over. He’d not realised Hawke’s name-day approached so fast. The first few years he’d known Hawke, her mother Leandra always insisted she host a party involving her friends. And each year, Hawke protested any of her mother’s efforts, but Leandra always won out in the end. Since her passing, Hawke never made a fuss about the day, and Fenris had forgotten all about the approaching date. He wonders, what’s happened to make her change her mind about celebrating? He does not recognise the cursive in the letter, the invitation clearly being written by someone else. He recounts on his fingers the years that have passed, and figures out that she will be turning twenty-eight. It surprises him how much time has elapsed since first laying eyes on the woman who helped him defeat the slavers who sought him out. She’d only been a young woman then, twenty one in age. And he’d been … well, Fenris has no recollection of his age. He tries not to dwell on forgotten years, for such things cannot be changed. Instead, he thinks on what he can do to make her name-day special for her. He knows through observation of Donnic that anniversaries and name-days are important to partners, and Hawke is a true romantic. 

Fenris jots off ideas of gifts in his mind. Wine, too common. A staff, too impersonal. Sweets? She could get those at the bakery herself, should she want them. The elf sighs in defeat. He’s never been good at sentimentalities. And the woman he cares for holds them near and dear to her heart. Fenris places the letter down on a side table. Perhaps a stroll through the market would clear his mind.

* * *

  
It’s a relatively quiet afternoon in Hightown’s market. A group of young children chase each other, laughing and screaming with joy, while a bard stands off to the side, singing songs of various tales. Fenris walks from vendor to vendor, looking at their most recent baubles and knick knacks. He’s becoming increasingly frustrated with each item he picks up. None of them speak of Hawke - this bracelet too plain - those gloves too extravagant. 

“What about a ring?” the merchant draws him out of his stewing.

“Pardon?” His eyes meet the middle aged woman, who is holding up a gold ring.

“You are buying for a loved one, yes? This is a popular item.”

He studies the ring she holds up for him. It’s a plain band. Too plain. And a ring was … not quite what he was hoping to find - a circle that binds lovers for eternity. Surely, he wants to be with her for the rest of his days but … marriage? No. It’s far too soon for such things.

Fenris shakes his head at the merchant. “Another time, perhaps.” He passes a few stalls, stopping at yet another, one that sells various trinkets. He picks up a porcelain dragon statue, inspecting it over. Still, he feels nothing. Surely the right gift for Hawke should make him feel  _ something  _ when he holds it in his hands.

“Fenris?” 

He places the statue down, turning to see Sebastian. He nods at his friend. “I thought you were usually at the Chantry at this hour.”

The archer smiles. “Part of my duty is giving sermons and confessions to those who are unable to seek the Chantry. We often visit those too sick or weak to leave their homes. I just finished visiting Lady Mayweather. Poor thing fell and broke her hip last week.” Sebastian inches closer, taking a peek at the merchant’s table. “Doing some shopping, are you?”

“I … No. I was just browsing,” Fenris says, and the merchant behind him frowns. Fenris and Sebastian walk away from the table, aimlessly wandering about the square.

“Were you perhaps looking for something for Hawke’s upcoming name-day?”

“You received her invitation?”

“Aye, just this morning.”

Fenris sighs. “Nothing speaks to me of her or her tastes.”

Sebastian laughs. “Hawke is a rather unique lady.” Fenris can’t help but frown. This simple task was proving to be a great deal of trouble. The archer looks to him, concerned. “What troubles your mind, Fenris?”

Fenris pauses, contemplating what he should say. Hawke has encouraged him to seek out a friend, should he need to. And he certainly couldn’t outright ask Hawke for advice on what to get her. Uncomfortably, he says, “I can trust you?”

“We are friends, aren’t we?” Sebastian smiles. “Anything you need to say to me will not be repeated, I swear it.” He leads them to a nearby bench, and they both take a seat. “I can see that there’s something bothering you. You know, many find that talking helps unburden the mind.”

Fenris takes a deep breath. Sharing his emotions with others never comes easy. “You were right. I was searching for something for Hawke’s name-day. I’ve noticed that with these events … bringing a gift is customary.”

“Generally speaking, yes. But, if you’ve not have the coin, I know Hawke would be more than understanding if you are unable to bring one. If you’d like, there’s a few jobs available on the Chanter’s board should you have need for silver.”

“No, it’s not about the expense.” Fenris fidgets uncomfortably in place. “I am unsure what to get her. Anything I can think of seems insufficient.”

“You want it to be special?” Sebastian asks, and Fenris nods. “You know Hawke much better than I do. I could list a number of things that might suit her tastes. But, the important thing is that it comes from the heart.”

“What great help you’ve been.”

Sebastian chuckles. “I’m sorry I do not have the answer you were hoping for.” They both stand, but before Fenris can leave, the archer speaks once more. “You care for her, a great deal, don’t you?”

Fenris sighs. “More than I could ever express in words.”

“In all the time I’ve known you, it’s been clear that she is a special person in your life. Hawke is not one to be impressed by fancy jewelry or fine wine’s like some of the other noble women. Your presence alone will be more than enough to make her happy. But if you are intent on giving her something special, you need only look inside yourself. What brings her joy? What do the two of you speak of when no one else is around? Think about what makes her happy, and there you will find your answer.”

The men bid each other farewell, with promises to see each other at the Amell estate in a few days time. Fenris aimlessly wanders the streets, his mind seeking for an answer on what to give Hawke. Something that would bring her joy. 

‘ _ What do the two of you speak of when no one else is around’?  _

An idea comes to Fenris. Something sentimental for her romantic heart. He makes his way to her estate, knowing she is away with Aveline for the afternoon. Bodahn lets him in with a smile. Fenris excuses himself, and makes his way to Hawke’s private quarters.

As he enters her room, he feels a bit guilty for invading her privacy when she’s not there. But this was for her. He looks around her shelves until he spots the book of poems. Placing it under his arm, hiding it as if it bears all his secrets, he leaves the Amell estate and heads for his home. He has his work cut out for him.

* * *

 

Hawke stands before her mirror, adding the finishing touches to her makeup. It’d been a long time since she hosted anything at her estate, and she wants to look nice for the event. Mostly for Fenris, but she can’t admit that aloud. She’d almost forgone anything for her name-day at all. Her mother always insisted that she needed to do something special, and Hawke saw how much joy it’d brought her, so she allowed her mother to fuss over her, baking sweet cakes and appetizers for her and her guests. But when Leandra passed away, Hawke saw no point in carrying out the tradition. It was an ordinary day like any other, after all. But ever since bringing Fenris into her home, the estate felt so much warmer with his presence. She wanted to celebrate. It was about time she carried on her mother’s traditions. Family had been so important to Leandra, and with Carver gone with the Wardens, Fenris was the closest thing she had left. He knew nothing of family, or traditions, or love. It was up to her to show him. 

Hawke gazes at her reflection. The dress she’s adorned in is royal blue and black in colour, with long, flowing sleeves. It gathers low in the front, not as plunging as the neckline’s Isabela prefers, but low enough to bring attention to her curves. She’d been hesitant to buy the dress, but after trying it on, she knew she had to have it. It hugged her curves so perfectly, it was as if it’d been specifically tailored for her body.

After she is pleased enough with her appearance, Hawke makes her way to the kitchen to see how her staff fares with the final preparations. The cakes have just come out of the oven. Over the last few days, Hawke and Orana have tested out Mother’s recipe until they perfected it on their own. Cinnamon and chocolate permeate the air, and her mouth water’s at the aroma. 

Not much later, her guests begin to gather. Aveline and Donnic are the firsts, punctual as always. Soon after, Varric and Merrill arrive together. Hawke smiles at the elf, glad she’s taken some time away from her home. Sebastian comes shortly after. Her friends gather in the dining room, feasting upon the various snacks that her staff has made for the evening.

Hawke excuses herself when she hears another knock at the front door. She can’t hide her shock when she opens the door and sees Anders.

“You’re here?” The mage has slight bags under his eyes, and she can’t help but feel a pang of guilt for not stepping in to help him in the clinic in the last few days. She doesn’t fail to notice the gift swaddled under his arm.

“Should I not have come?” he asks, closing the door behind him.

“No ... I mean, I did send you an invitation. Of course I want you here.”

Anders peers around the corner, lowering his voice. “You’ve not told the others yet? About you and …  _ him? _ ”

“No, not yet. Soon though, I hope. I hate keeping secrets.”

Anders seems agitated, but says no more on the subject. “You look especially nice this evening,” he says, and Hawke's unsure if he genuinely means it or is grasping at straws for a change in conversation.

Before she has a chance to thank him, the door behind them swings open with a slight bang, and in saunters Isabela, a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a wooden box in the other. She offers Hawke a giant smile, her eyes twinkling mischievously. 

“His name was Gerald, and he was  _ incredible _ .”

Hawke can’t help but laugh. She hasn’t had the chance to catch up with the pirate and ask how the rest of the night went with her two suitors. “Glad to hear it. And his friend?”

“Eh, he wasn’t terrible, I suppose. But nothing worth remembering.”

Hawke eyes the bottle in Isabela’s hand. “You know, you really didn’t have to bring anything. I would never let my guests go thirsty”

“I’m not a fan of the wine you serve. Too pretentious.”

“Of course, silly me.”

They enter the dining room, where everyone is seated. Everyone but Fenris. Odd, she thinks, but pays little mind as she grabs a glass of wine and takes a long sip.

“Oh Hawke, thank you for inviting me,” Merrill says, her big green eyes lighting up. “I almost didn’t come. But I’m glad Varric talked me into it. The walls in my home were beginning to cave in on me. Not really, mind you. It was just beginning to feel a bit suffocating staying within the same room day in and day out.”

“There’s no way I was leaving you in there tonight, Daisy. If I had to drag you out myself, I would have.” Varric says.

Merrill chuckles. “Well, I’m glad it didn’t come to that.”

“As am I,” Hawke smiles, taking another sip from her glass, notes of citrus and tang dancing upon her tongue. “You’re always welcome here, Merrill.”

Hawke takes a seat across from Aveline, who is blushing and smiling sheepishly at something Donnic whispers in her ear. Hawke thinks of how nice it is to see her friend outside of her duty, where she can drop her guard and allow herself to have some fun. Aveline was built for a life of strict duty, and revels in it. But over the years, Hawke has seen how it has worn on her. She thinks of Aveline as a sister; they’d both lost so much, and came to Kirkwall together. It brings her immense joy to see that her friend’s finally moved on from the death of her late husband.

A moment later, she hears the front door closing. Fenris walks in, envelope in hand. He examines the room, spotting the rest of the gifts placed upon the mantle, and adds his to the pile. Hawke smiles at him, and when he meets her gaze, he smiles back.

“A bit late, aren’t you?” Anders scoffs. Fenris ignores his comment, taking a seat next to Hawke, keeping a casual distance between them. She notices his hands are stained in what looks to be black ink. 

“Have you been practising your cursive?” She asks quietly, her eyes nodding towards one of his hands.

“I … suppose you could say that,” he stumbles on his words, distracting himself by grabbing a bottle of wine and filling his cup, and her heart swells with pride.

“I do have a special soap that should help get the stains out. I’ll give some to you later.”

“Since everyone’s here, why don’t you open your presents, Hawke?” Merrill asks, passing her present to Hawke.

“Why the hurry?” she laughs, accepting her gift.

“Oh, no hurry! I just … well, I’ve been really excited to see what you think,” Merrill blushes.

“Alright, I suppose I could open them now.”

Hawke unwraps the gift, pulling out an amulet embedded with a purple gem. “It’s beautiful, Merrill.”

“I’m glad you like it. You were very kind in giving me a gift before, so I thought I ought to return the favour.” Hawke remembers how shocked Merrill had been when she gifted her a wooden Halla, having never received a gift before.

“I would never expect something in return. Regardless, it’s a beautiful gift.”

“It’s practical, too! It will help prevent your mana from depleting in battle. I thought you could use it more than I could.”

Hawke smiles. “I can’t wait to wear it.”

“I’m next,” Isabela winks, handing over the wooden box. Hawke opens the lid. A velvet cloth is wrapped tightly around an object, and when she removes the cloth, she holds a transparent bottle with clear liquid inside.

“Dare I ask?”

“It’s for increasing your  _ pleasure _ .” 

A few groans circulate around the table, but Hawke’s interest is piqued. “Does it now?”

“Oh yes! I’ve gone through a few bottles myself. It’s a very common item in Antiva. You just apply it over your fun bits and wait for the tingle. It will work on a partner as well, but you can use it alone just fine.”

Hawke nervously chuckles. “I’ll let you know how it works out.”

“Please do. And don’t leave out  _ any _ details.”

“How about you open another present?” Sebastian interrupts, and Hawke is glad for the change in conversation. She’s a bit relieved Isabela didn’t make any remarks towards Fenris this time, but that could change in an instant.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Gifts are continuously passed to her. Incense from Sebastian, a bottle of fine wine from Aveline and Donnic, and a copy of Varric’s latest draft of ‘Tale of the Champion’. She raises an eyebrow at the dwarf, who shrugs in response.

“Go over it. It’s far from finished. I figured if there’s anything you  _ really  _ want me to omit, I’d like to know before I end up being set aflame.”

“Smart choice, dwarf,” Hawke laughs. She downs the remaining few sips of her wine, and promptly pours herself another glass. 

“I suppose now is the time to give you this,” Anders says, a little meekly. He hands her an object, swaddled in cloth, tied neatly with a bit of twine. As she pulls open the twine and cloth, a worn book of spells is revealed.

“It’s one of the few things that made it with me from the Circle. I learned quite a few handy tricks from that book. Thought I might as well pass along that knowledge to someone else. Not that you really need it.”

“It’s a lovely gift, Anders.” Hawke genuinely appreciates the gift. She expected nothing from him, and knows he has very little means for survival. That he thought to bring her anything at all warms her insides. 

“You haven’t opened Fenris’ gift yet,” Isabela notes, taking a heavy sip of her whiskey, giving Hawke a wink. Her eyes drift over to Fenris, and the envelope he’s now clutching, having retrieved it from the mantle. Fenris shifts uneasily in place.

“Do you mind if I open it now?” her eyes meet his and he swallows.

“If you wish.”

She takes the envelop, opening it with careful fingers. She pulls out a single piece of parchment. Immediately she recognises Fenris’ cursive. It’s much more legible than usual, and she sees that he took great care in composing the letters. She reads it to herself, and her heart nearly melts.

“ _ Oh be still, tender heart, no need to beat so fast. My affections are true, and forever will last. In my dreams it’s you I see, whom I desire all day. Never will I leave, I will not send you away. For you need not ask to press your lips to mine, forever will I cherish thine. Thine lips, thine hands, thine flesh, thine heart. I come to thee now, never again to part. _

She reads it again, her heart rattling in her chest. It was her favorite poem, the one she read to him in bed, but with amendments - a response from the poets lover. She draws a breath, finally braving to look up into his eyes.

“Did you … did you write this?”

“I know it’s not much. I should have gotten you something more. Something - “

He cannot finish whatever he’s about to say, for she throws all caution to the wind, grabbing his face and pressing her lips to his, consequences be damned. He stills for a moment, before slowly returning the kiss. She can vaguely hear Isabela hooting and gasps around the table, but doesn’t care. She is his, and he is hers. 

When she finally has half a mind to pull away, Fenris is smiling at her. She blushes, and says quietly, “Perhaps I should have asked if that was okay first.”

“Hawke,” he says with a small laugh. “You never need to ask to do that.”

“So,” Aveline breaks the spell that has enraptured them both. “When did this happen?”

“Oh, about a month ago,” Varric interrupts, a lopsided smile on his face.

“Isabela!” Hawke yells, pointedly glaring at her friend. She hasn’t the care to be mad, but she still shoots her a fake angry face.

“Oh come on, it was just too good not to share.”

“You knew the deal. I am definitely not sharing anything else with you.”

“As if Rivaini needed to tell me anything,” Varric chuckles. “You two were completely obvious at Wicked Grace Night. There’s a reason I gave you a copy of my latest draft. I want to make sure I get all the details right.”

“You mean I gave up my future secret privileges for nothing?” Isabela scoffs. “Shit.”

“Maybe if you’re good, I’ll change my mind,” Hawke winks.

“You will do no such thing,” Fenris sighs. 

“So, who else knew about this?” Aveline raises an eyebrow.

“I had my suspicions,” Sebastian says, a hint of amusement in his voice. Hawke glances at Fenris, who is avoiding her gaze. She knew he and the archer had grown close, and the thought that Fenris has confided in him brings her great joy.

“Some of us had really wished we didn’t have such knowledge,” Anders scoffs, and for the first time that night, drinks from his glass.

“I didn’t know! Oh, you two make such a cute couple. I knew it would happen one day,” Merrill cheers happily.

“So, just me and Merrill then?” Aveline shakes her head. 

“I didn’t know either, love,” Donnic squeezes her hand, a smile on his lips.

“Alright, since the cat’s out of the bag, any questions? This is your one chance to ask. After tonight, this becomes old news, got it?” Hawke asks the group. Isabela immediately chimes in.

“So just how many times has he explored your pink fortress? Assaulted you with his friendly weapon?” An unified groan spreads across the table. Fenris glances at Hawke.

“This is entirely your fault.”

Hawke grabs his hand from under the table, squeezing tight. “Sorry, darling. Being with me means you’ll have to endure the scrutiny of our friends.”

“Is that all? Hardly seems like a downside, in comparison to everything I’ve gained.” He whispers, so only she can hear him.

As chatter picks up around them, Hawke whispers to him, “You know, I was wondering where my book went.”

“I will return it to you tomorrow.”

“Keep it for awhile. Who knows, maybe you’ll find a favorite passage of your own.”

To her surprise, questions of their relationship die down soon after. The rest of the night is spent with good company, delicious drinks, and laughter, surrounded by the most important people in her life. It was one of the best name-days of her life, and Hawke vowed to herself that she would continue to carry on her mother’s tradition.

 

* * *

  
  


**_A/N: So uh … if you haven’t guessed it, Anders’ gift was the start of him giving away his personal belongings (like how in game we see him giving Varric his mother’s pillow). Don’t worry, story is far from wrapping up, but I think Anders had made his plans far before he actually executed them._ **

**_As you may have noticed, I failed miserably at my NanoWrimo deadline. I made good on it the first half month, but unfortunately, I suffer from an unpredictable medical condition, and the last 2 weeks have been complete and utter hell, so very little writing was done. However, I have set some new goals for December so expect frequent updates!_ **

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris indulges Hawke in one of her fantasies, and discovers some new desires of his own.

**_A/N: So, the smut in this story started out pretty flowery in the first few chapters, and it seems with each new chapter, I am further indulging myself more and more. Those who have been following me for years will not be surprised in the slightest by this especially smutty chapter. For my new readers however … I apologize if you came here looking for tasteful smut. I have no shame, it would seem._ **

* * *

  
He catches her in the market one day, having left his mansion to purchase some food. He’d not noticed how low his supply dwindled, until he was left with a single sack of potatoes, having spent most of his time at the Amell estate over the last few weeks. Fenris places his gauntlets in his pack, as he picks up a ripe apple for closer inspection. It’s when he lifts the fruit to his eyes that he spots Hawke in a store window across the street. Placing down the fruit in question, he wanders nears the store. As he stands in the open doorway, Hawke doesn’t notice him, and Fenris is content simply to watch. Leaning against the doorway, he observes as she lifts a jar, unscrewing it’s lid and lifting it to her nose, sniffing it before placing it back down. She does this for a minute or so, inspecting various jars until she settles on one.

Eventually, he enters the store, noting the various fragrance of musk and candied sweets. As he approaches Hawke, he realises the jars she’s been inspecting look exactly like the fancy jars of soap she keeps in her bathing chamber. As he steps up beside her, he finally catches her attention.

“Do I have a stalker now?” she teases, her eyes meeting his.

“Perhaps. But you have nothing to worry about, as he wishes you no harm,” he smiles and she laughs. Fenris gazes fully around the store now that he’s inside. Various jars, candles, and perfume bottles decorate the walls within. A stick of incense burns at the merchant’s table, hints of patchouli wafting through the coiling smoke as it fills the room. The storekeeper gives Fenris a polite nod when he meets her gaze. He takes note of a curious red curtain near the back of the store.

“What have you come here for?” he asks, turning his attention back to Hawke.

“I like this store. I get most of my bathing products here, sometimes the occasional perfume. Oh, and their bath oils are absolutely  _ divine _ .” she muses, pointing to a display off in the corner. Some of Hightown’s luxuries have rubbed off on Hawke over time, not that Fenris minds. She deserves to be spoiled now and then, and he takes note of her excitement for the bath oils in case he ever needs to buy her another present in the future. Hawke lifts the jar she’s holding. Unscrewing the lid, she presses it to his nose. 

“What do you think? Do you like it?”

Fenris takes a deep whiff. Notes of clove, bourbon, and pepper invade his nostrils, and he can’t deny that he finds it oddly pleasurable. Something about it nearly reminds him of the air of Seheron, spice on waves, musky yet not overbearing.

“It has a pleasant fragrance.”

“Good, it made me think of you.” Fenris perks an eyebrow at the admission. He finds it strange how the scent reminds her of him, and yet it reminds him of a distant memory. Sometimes he feels like she can see something inside of him that not even he can - it’s as if she can stare into the very depths of his soul.

“I figured I’d pick up a few things for when you stay over. This one seems to be more your taste than the sweet scented soaps I use.”

“I like your soap just fine.”

“I know. But now you can have one of your own.”

He does not argue further. As much as he appreciates the luxurious lather her soaps provide, they are, in fact, a little too saccharine for his preferences. Lately, Hawke has insisted that her home feel like his own, offering him small comforts and making sure that he always has a change of spare clothing in her drawers. Fenris wonders for a moment, if perhaps Hawke desires for him to move in. He admits, while he’s not ready for anything permanent, that it’s not an entirely unpleasant thought. They’ve previously joked about leaving Kirkwall for a farm, and he had meant it when he said he'd follow her anywhere. He’s in no rush to change things, but still, it’s nice to ponder what their future might look like.

He follows Hawke to the merchant, where she pays for the few items she’s gathered. The merchant’s eyes crinkle at the corners, a small smile forming on her red lips. “Would you and the gentleman like to come into the back room? We have some new items that might be to your taste.” She nods to the red curtain hanging from a doorway off to the left.

Hawke laughs nervously. “No … not today.”

“No? Maybe your  _ friend _ might like to take a look? See if there’s anything that would suit the both of you?” Fenris notes how the woman glances at them both, smiling with a question twinkling behind her eyes. Perhaps his blossoming relationship with the cities beloved Champion was not so secret after all? Who knew what stories the dwarf spun in their absence? It often seemed that Varric would do anything for an audience; he loved having them hanging onto his every last word. 

Hawke brushes her off. “Oh, no we’re not…” she looks nervously at Fenris. “We’re fine for the moment, thank you.”

As they leave the shop, Fenris wonders why her demeanor changed when the storekeeper insinuated that they were together. While it was true that they’d come clean to her friends, perhaps she preferred it if the rest of the city remained unaware. Perhaps -    


“That had nothing to do with you. I promise.” Hawke interrupts him from his thoughts. 

“How did you - “ 

“I know that look on your face. Your eyebrows scrunch together in that cute way when you’re unhappy about something. It wasn’t hard to guess what was going on in that beautiful head of yours.” 

Fenris’ tongue lolls from side to side in his mouth, as if trying to discern a strange flavour. He knows Hawke, and knows her well. She’d want to spare him any hurt feelings, and he is keenly aware of how the nobles loathe that an elf lives among them.

“Are you certain it doesn’t worry you - what the city might think of you dallying with an elf? I’d … understand if you wish to keep knowledge of our relationship privy to your group of friends. You are, the Champion after all.” He hates how insecure he sounds. At that moment, Hawke grasps his hand in hers. “Nonsense. I am proud to be seen with you. If anyone has a problem with it, well, screw em’. And for the record, what we're doing is far beyond ‘dallying’.” 

Fenris can’t help but grin, and is glad he placed his sharp gauntlets in his pack. He loves the feeling of her hand in his. A sense of pride warms him from within, that she would so publicly declare their relationship for all to see. But, as they continue their casual stroll, the hushed whispers and pointing from the Hightown nobles and merchants grow with each passing step. The staring … the staring he could do without. He’s used human’s gawking at him as he passes by, but it’s not something he particularly enjoys. Perhaps from now on he would only hold her hand in private. Unless it bothered her terribly.

As they meander around Hightown, silently enjoying each others company, Fenris thinks back to the nervous air that surrounded Hawke when the shopkeeper asked if they wanted to step beyond the curtain. That alluring red curtain, what secrets did it hide?

”I have to ask,” he breaks the long silence, “what was in the back of that store, anyway?”

Hawke stammars, and Fenris finds it charming. She hardly ever stumbles over her words with anyone else, but he's noticed it happens when she suddenly becomes embarrassed around him. He likes having such an affect on her.

“Oh … um, about a year ago, Isabela introduced me to that store.” Ah, so it would be an interesting story at the very least, he thinks. “I’d walked by it dozens of times, and only thought it was a simple soap and perfume shop. But the shopkeeper specializes in …. other things as well.”

“What kind of things?”

“Things of an … erotic nature.” she lowers her voice. “Things for couples and … for those who do not have a lover as well.” 

“Oh?” She’s certainly captured his attention now.

“Isabela, as you know, was very adamant that I … how did she put it … get bent over a barrel. But, I couldn’t just go to the Rose to take care of my …  _ needs _ . Not that there’s anything wrong with that, it’s just … not for me. And you and I were … I didn't think you'd be interested in a casual romp. And even so, I could never be just casual with you, so that wouldn't have worked out anyways. Eventually, she convinced me to look into something that would bring me some … self pleasure. So, I tagged along with her into that store, behind that curtain. You’d be surprised just how many things that woman has back there.” Among her nervous rambling, Fenris hangs on to her every word. He squeezes the hand in his own reassuringly. 

”And did you find something suitable?” his brow raises, glancing at her with rapt interest.

“I did buy a few ...  _ items _ . Yes. They worked just fine, but I have no need for them anymore. Not when you take such very good care of me.” 

He smiles at that, but he can’t stop the images that form in his mind. Images of Hawke writhing on her bed, lost in pleasure. What did she use in his absence? Did she purchase a wooden phallic shaped toy that resembled his own anatomy? Did she think of him while chasing release?

“Do you still have these items?” 

“I do, yes.” 

As soon as the last word is confirmed on her lips, he pulls her towards the direction of her home. Hawke laughs. 

“Fenris, what’s the rush? Where are we going?” 

“To your estate.”

* * *

 

When he finally pushes past her front doors after what seems like an eternity, Hawke's hand in his as she trails behind him, Fenris ignores Bohdan's knowing smile, although Hawke musters out an apology as they amble up the stairs. He is quick to shut the door behind them, desperate to have her alone. He'd had enough of prying eyes outside.

Hawke crosses over to her bed, kneeling by the side. She pulls a wooden box from underneath, placing it on top of her sheets. She sits at the corner of her bed nervously, while Fenris stares at the mysterious box before them.

“Well? Show me.” he says impatiently, eager to see the contents within.

“Are you … certain? There are some items that might not be to your liking.” 

“ _ Hawke _ ”. 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she forces out a laugh, but can’t hide her uncertainty.

When Hawke removes the lid, the first item he sees is the lubricant that Isabela provided for her name-day. They’ve yet to use it, and Fenris plans to rectify that soon. The cloth included with the bottle covers the other items. Hawke’s hand hovers above it, hesitating to reveal whatever else she has stored inside. 

“Show me the rest, Hawke.” 

Next she pulls out a phallus, and Fenris is pleased. He removes it from her hand, feeling it’s weight in his hands. It’s made of a soft material, not smoothed wood as he had imagined. He inspects it, pulling back on the tip. It bends to his will, and he finds it strange how …  _ lifelike _ it is. In length, it’s a little larger than he, and he can’t help but feel a bit insecure. 

“Did you enjoy this often?” 

“Mmm, a few times. The real thing is so much better though.” 

A small wave of relief washes over Fenris. He notices at the base of the shaft is an attachment which spreads close to the tip with what looks like some sort of nob. “What does this do?”

“Aha, so you see this part here?” Hawke runs her fingers along it. “It rubs against my clitoris, so I can find release that way. And if it’s charged with magic, it  _ vibrates _ . It’s one of the items they have to keep hidden away, even from those who look behind the curtain, as only a mage can charge it. I heard a rumour from Isabela, that in certain cities, they allow their circle mages to activate such things, for a cost of the customer. The activation only lasts so long, so the consumer would need to come back and get it reactivated before each use. Rather despicable if you ask me. They won’t let mages use magic openly but when it comes to this sort of thing … well, that puts a whole other spin on the whole “Magic exists to serve man” nonsense. But then again, it was only a rumour and I did hear it from Isabela,” she huffs. 

”What else is in there?” Fenris asks. Hawke pauses, and finally, removes the cloth that hides the remaining contents. She pulls out a blindfold, four long sturdy pieces of fabric, and a small glass bulbous object that is decorated with a clear gem on the end. He picks it up, and sets it back down. He knows what it is.

“You … enjoy having this inside of you?” His voice comes out harsher than he means, and Hawke grimaces. Perhaps she thinks he is judging her, and that thought gnaws at his conscious. “If I sound perturbed, that couldn’t be further from the truth. I am simply curious,” he states, running a gentle hand down her arm.

“That one Isabela talked me into. I had never used one before, but I’ve been known to enjoy … um … being taken back there. So I tried it and … you can say I found the experience really enjoyable. Not at first though. It’s not all that wide, but the weight of it can make the first few minutes rather intense. The first time I tried to insert it, I didn’t get very far. It hurt, and I had no interest in trying again. But eventually, my curiosity got the best of me. And I’m glad. Once I get through that first initial slide, it’s as if all blood rushes to my nethers, and when I climax with it inside of me, I can nearly see stars.”

This information shocks him, although he supposes he shouldn’t be entirely surprised. She seems to particularly enjoy being taken roughly, and he knows that this experience, while it can be painful, can bring great pleasure as well.

”Did she talk you into the blindfold as well?”

“Oh no, that was all me. As well as the restraints.” Hawke admits sheepishly. Ah, so they were restraints. He picks up one, holding it in his hand. An unwelcome shiver runs down his spine, and puts it back down. 

“I … don’t know if I would ever be okay with being restrained, Hawke. Blindfolded even.”

”Oh Fenris,” she exhales, a smile on her face. “They wouldn’t be for you. They would be for me.” 

He should have known. His erection throbs at the thought of her naked and bound, for him to take how he wants. But remorse steels him, as alluring as these thoughts are. She is more to him than a plaything to be used … an object … a  _ slave _ . He’s suddenly disgusted with himself, for even considering such a thing. Still, there are other objects on her bed to explore without leaving her so vulnerable. Fenris looks at everything splayed out before him on her sea of red sheets.

“Have you used these objects with anyone else?” he asks, a pang of jealousy following the question. 

“Not these in particular, but I’m no stranger to being bound and blindfolded.” Her eyes meet his, as if she’s trying to read him. He bites back his unwarranted possessiveness, and let’s her continue. “It's called sensory deprivation. When you take away one sense, the others are heightened. I become incredibly sensitive to a touch that I can't see coming. It's all very suspenseful.” 

This new information leaves Fenris startled, caught between want and being unnerved. But, these are her desires. She  _ longs _ for this. Everything in his brain tells him that this should be wrong - one does not render their cherished one helpless then use them for their own selfish pleasures! And yet, his body tells another story. A huge part of him thinks he could very well enjoy indulging her. 

“We don’t have to use them at all,” she says, squeezing his hand. She always attempts to assuage the worst of his fears, and for this, Fenris is thankful. He’s not sure he will ever be fine with restraining her. But the other objects? He certainly wouldn’t mind giving them a try.

He pulls her flush against him, nipping at her lower lip. Let her see how her “items” affect him. Hawke gasps against his lips, allowing his tongue to plunder her mouth. When he pulls away, she whimpers.

”Strip,” he orders, and it's a rush to see how quick she responds.  _ Obedience _ is the word that comes to mind, and while he loves how she is so willing, it is a word he hates the taste of. Within moments she stands before him, not a thread of fabric to shield her body from his questing eyes. He kisses her, curling his fingers in her hair. “Lay down on the bed.”

As she lays against her pillows, Hawke’s hair fans out around her head, and for a moment, Fenris thinks she looks like a deity to be worshiped. And worship her he will. He climbs between her parted legs, immediately tasting her juices that have already gathered at the junction of her thighs. It pleases him that their conversation has her aroused. Flicking his tongue against her, he tastes her, teases her, but he has no intention of allowing her to reach her peak. Not yet. He grabs the bottle of lubricant, applying a small amount to his fingers. It slides down his hand, and he understands why a cloth was included. He spreads it over her, dipping a finger inside, applying it there as well. A few moments later his fingers begin to tingle.

“Fenris,” she hisses, prolonging his name. 

“Good?” he asks.

“Too soon to tell,” she whines. 

He takes the phallus in his hand, holding it out to her. “Activate it.”

A gleeful smile tugs on her lips, and with a wave of her fingers, the shaft buzzes in his hand. He places it down for the moment, grabbing the blindfold, meeting her eyes. 

“Oh. Oh, yes please,” she nods with great enthusiasm, and Fenris smirks. He places it over her eyes, securing it gently behind her head.

“Relax.” Slowly, her body goes lax, and he watches with rapt interest as her breathing hitches when he strokes her thigh.  He grabs the phallus, smearing some more of the tingly lubricant across it. Carefully, he inches it inside of her, watching the large head of it spear through her depths. She gasps for him then, and he throbs, watching her body open and accept its length. 

Fenris fucks her slowly with the toy, her body stretching to accommodate it’s girth. He’d been a little insecure at first, worrying that his size might not be adequate upon first seeing the size of the substitute, but soon, Fenris is enraptured by stretching her. He wonders how much she can take. He begins to quicken the pace of his wrist, pushing in and out, faster by each moment. She squirms, her fingers slightly twisting in her sheets.

“How does this feel?”

“That lubricant has quite the kick,” she keens. “I’m throbbing everywhere.”

“Not everywhere. Not yet.”

Fenris removes the shaft from her channel, and she whines. He smears a generous amount of the lubricant on his finger, placing it at just the entrance of her ass. He stops, waiting for permission, but she cannot see the question in his eye, he realises. 

“Do you want this?”

“Maker, yes.” He rubs in slow circles, teasing her, and the sound that escapes her lips is so enthralling. Ever so slowly, he pushes the tip of his finger in. He moves it in and out, and soon she is nearly sobbing.

”That really tingles there,” she nearly laughs. He responds by plunging the whole of his finger inside of her, and the moan that pushes past her throat ignites his desire further still. Gently, he moves it in and out of her. Soon, Hawke is pushing to meet his movements, and he chuckles.

“So needy.”

“I need more. My clit is aching for attention.”

“Patience, Hawke,” he scolds. He withdraws his finger, taking the jeweled plug, and drenching it with the slippery liquid. When he places it at her hole, her breath hitches in her throat. Carefully, he pushes it forward, and she practically howls for him. 

“ _ Fenris _ ,” she cries sharply. There is an edge of pain in her voice, and he cannot deny that he yearns for her pain, nearly as much as her pleasure.

“Do you want me to stop?” he asks, cautiously.

“No,” she sobs.

“Good.” He is pleased. “We will go slow. I know you can handle a little more.” He holds the plug in place, just the tip breeching her. After a few long moments, he begins to push in more. She is shaking beneath him, a loud, long groan comes from her plush lips as he sinks the rest of the plug in. He’s never heard her make these sounds - her prolonged moans thick with desire and discomfort. A breath of relief rushes out of her when it is fully seated inside of her.

“Oh, that’s much better,” she sighs. “The first part is always the worst.”

“Does it feel good?”

“It’s making my need to climax dire. I am absolutely throbbing,” she huffs, and he grins, predatory and feral. He is the wolf, and she is his bird. A hawk is a feral creature, dangerous and untamable in it's own way, but it is no match for a wolf. He pulls out the plug slowly, only to push it back in. He fucks her with it for a few minutes, her moans mounting with each passing second. Watching her body take in the plug makes him wonder if she’s ever thought of taking his cock there. The thought makes him ache for her. One day, perhaps he would. But not today. He has other plans for her.

Fenris nearly removes the plug, but the former question of ‘ _ how much can she take _ ’ comes to mind. He picks up the phallus, still buzzing from before, and places it at her entrance. Hawke stills. 

“Think you can take both at the same time?”

“Oh, I know I can.” she grins, confidently. 

With a gentle stroke of his wrist, Fenris pushes the toy inside, and her fingers dig into her covers yet again. When the buzzing bulb of the toy hits her swollen nub, she cries out sharp. He thrusts in and out, watching as her body accepts both. 

“Did you ever use these toys together, the same way I'm using them now?”

“Yes,” she whines.

He moves the plug and the phallus both, first alternating, then both at the same time. Her head is thrown back, and for someone who usually bites her lower lip to muffle her sounds when her servants are home, she's thrown all caution to the wind, her loud cries of pleasure bouncing off of the walls. She's near feral, and Fenris is rock hard. He cannot believe how much she loves this. She screams his name, and Fenris has no doubt that all of Hightown will know who she belongs to now.

He almost doesn’t want to ask, but his curiosity is piqued. “Have you ever had two men inside of you at once?”

“N-no,” she answers.

“But you’ve wanted to?”

“I … no …” 

“You’re lying.”

“Fenris, please.”

“Tell me the truth, Hawke,” he says, a smirk playing on his lips. He’s glad for the blindfold, for she cannot see the amusement in his face. 

“Okay, yes, I’ve fantasized about it. Because this … “ she gasps. “This feels so fucking  _ good _ .” Seeing her so overwhelmed with pleasure makes him swell. He could never share her with another, but, she’s often told him how fantasies are harmless. He would let her have her fantasies if it meant seeing her so lost in pleasure. It wasn't a terrible image really, thinking of her filled to the brink until she couldn't take anymore. 

“Not as good as the real thing, I’d wager, since you said you prefer me over your toys. Or was that yet another lie? I've never heard you come undone quite like this before.” 

“No … not a lie. I promise,” she nearly laughs. He cannot wait any longer. He disrobes, tossing his clothes over his shoulder without a care in the world. When he is stripped bare, he removes the phallus, and pushes inside of her at once, unable to be without her velvet warmth a moment longer. As he fills her, she moans, louder than he’s ever heard. Fenris curses under his breath; he’s never felt anything so tight, the plug buried in her ass making her all the more snug around his cock. 

Carefully, he rocks into her, testing the way she feels, being filled from both of her holes. A tingling sensation pulses through him, and he realises that the lubrication does in fact affect him as well, as Isabela had promised. He hisses through his teeth, a litany of Tevene curses spilling from his tongue.

“What was that?” Hawke sighs playfully. He looks down, seeing a coy smirk upon her teasing lips. For a moment, he wishes he could see the glimmer of her eyes, yet he leaves the blindfold on. He wishes to keep her as sensitive and responsive to his touch as possible.

“Never you mind,” he punctuates with a particular rough thrust, and she cries out, they both do, at the way he fills her. Fenris needs more. His hips snap into hers, frantic and desperate to surround himself with her plush walls, to feel her juices soak his member.

Hawke’s fingers twist and wind around her sheets, and Fenris is shocked to find himself craving the sensation of her nails tugging against his flesh, to have them break against his skin in her bliss. He doesn’t know what’s come over him so suddenly, but he desires a taste of pain, not only hers now, but his as well. Taking her hands, one at a time, he places them at his shoulders.

“Touch me, Hawke. Run your hands all over me. And don’t be gentle, either.”

“You sure?” she asks. He realises he’s drilled it into her to keep her hands at her sides most times, but right now, he is not apprehensive of her touch, or for any pain she might cause his markings. He needs her pain - needs to share his own.

“Yes,” he grunts, pushing into her. Slender fingers run across the expanse of his skin, clutching onto him as he ruts into her sheath. Hips rise and fall, skin filling skin, as her nails press into his flesh. Fenris moans, losing himself in the pleasure as she scrapes her blunt nails down his back.

“Again,” he whispers into her ear, and Hawke squeezes her plush thighs around his back, giving him more access to plunge deeper into her depths. Nails break his skin as they rain down his back. Fenris shudders at this, a thrilling jolt of pleasure shooting straight to his cock.

It embarrasses him how fast he comes, the lubricant making him extra sensitive. Spilling inside of her, he cries out, his breath shaking with euphoria. He buries his head in the crook of her neck, his thrusts slowly faltering. He sighs against her, breathing in the smell of sweat against her skin. Her fingers gently caress his tender flesh, and she kisses his cheek.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to finish so fast,” he begins to apologize, but she silents him with a kiss.

“Don’t you dare apologize when you’ve just fucked me better than I’ve ever been fucked in my life,” she sighs, and there’s an edge of need to her voice. Fenris chuckles darkly, slipping from her, to kneel between her spread legs.

Sun kissed fingers run down her nethers, a finger on each side. She lets out a puff of breath, and Fenris swipes his thumb against her clit. She is swollen and desperate, and she rubs herself against his hand. He runs his fingers against her opening, watching as his spend drips from her. It drives him wild to see her filled with his come. It is a thought that often sees him finding his end, as he pictures filling her with warm torrents of seed. It never ceases to thrill him to see it spill from her. He pushes a finger inside of her, moving it in and out, watching as his finger is soon coated in both their passions. He desires to fills her with his seed again and again, to have her sheets absolutely drenched with his essence. It takes him no time to harden again, a testament to how much he desires her,  _ needs _ her. He thinks that maybe one day, he will fill all her holes with his seed, finishing in one hole at a time.

He tastes her again, both of their flavours filling his mouth. Before he knows it, his tongue tingles. The damned lubricant. Fenris grunts his displeasure, but ignores any minor discomfort as he scales her body, and pushes into her once more. His need to have his seed flowing from her takes up all coherent thought in his mind. As he begins to pound into her, Hawke screams.

“Yes!” She quakes from beneath him. “Yes, stretch my holes.”

He nearly comes again, the sound of her filthy words brining a euphoric thrill down his spine, all the way to his toes. Oh, how she  _ loves  _ this. He hammers into her, giving her as much as she can take. A sly grin tugs on his lips, as he grabs the phallus that bounces beside them on the bed.

“You want your holes stretched. All of them?” He asks, and then places the tip of her toy to her lips. Hawke gasps, so willing to open her mouth at his offering. Plush lips wrap around its head, and Fenris pushes it further into her mouth. He starts slow, allowing her to get used to the invading force in her mouth. But soon, he moves it as fast as his hips buck into her, watching as she eagerly sucks her flavor from the shaft. He takes in the sight before him, his member twitching with excitement. The phallus still buzzes from her spell. Slowly, he withdraws it from her lips, and it leaves with a loud pop. She whines, but only for the briefest of moments, as Fenris places it between their bodies, best he can. It vibrates between them, and she shrieks.

“Hold it for me, so I can fuck you properly.”

She wastes no time, taking hold of the shaft, as he continues to thrust into her, his tongue still tingling in his mouth from tasting the lubricant upon her. He realises now, how very convenient it is that he’s left her hands unbound. She flicks her wrist, moving the vibrating toy against her bundle of nerves. Her inner walls shake, the vibrations coursing through them both.

He pulls out of her, and grasps her hips. “Bend over for me. I wish to watch properly as I take you.”

She slowly sits up, and he helps position her so her ass is in the air. She continues to rub the end of the toy in small circles around her nub. Fenris presses forward, loving the view of the jeweled plug in her ass. He breaches her once more, and spares no time in taking her quick and hard. Fingers wrap around the plug, and he begins to move it in and out in time with his frantic thrusts. Hawke grows louder still, swearing under her breath at the way he fills both her holes. It’s not long before his pace falters, her growing moans and the way she pulses around him nearly too much to endure.

“Fenris, oh Maker Fenris, I’m almost there.” she gasps. “Come with me, Fenris. Now!”

Her words are his undoing. Fenris shudders, gasping against her as he fills her with his spend once more. The entirety of his body quivers against her as she cries out with her own completion. Once he is able to regain his breath, he pulls out, and helps her lay on her back. Lyrium branded fingers remove the blindfold, and she shields her eyes dramatically.

“Ahh! Too bright,” she laughs, slowly lowering her hand. She squints for a few moments while adjusting to the daylight seeping through her windows. Fenris draws his hand to her bottom, resting his fingers at the handle of the plug.

“May I remove it?”

“Please do. It’s starting to become uncomfortable.”

Slowly, he pulls it free, and she grimaces when it’s withdrawn. He places it to the side for now, running a hand down her stomach. “Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m just fine. A little discomfort is to be expected afterwards.” Fenris smiles, and kisses her tenderly on her forehead. At that moment, the vibrating phallus beside them sputters, coming to an abrupt stop.

“How tragic that would have been had I not yet finished. Thankfully, I can recharge it at the flick of a wrist. See, magic can be useful,” she pushes on his shoulder.

“I’ve never argued against its usefulness.” Neither broach the subject further, not wanting to spoil the moment. He knows eventually, there will come a time when their opposing views will disrupt the happy state of their relationship. But that time is not now. Fenris wraps his arms around her protectively, breathing in the scent of her hair.

“Are you certain I did not hurt you?”

“No. I mean, there’s always a little pain associated with what we just did, but the pain somehow adds to the pleasure. I don’t know why I like it so much … I just do. It kind of seemed as if you liked it for a moment there as well. Am I wrong?”

Fenris shakes his head. “You’re not wrong. It was simply a … surprising discovery is all.”

“All your naughty words certainly got me all hot and bothered,” she laughs, and he smiles against the skin of her neck. She turns in his arms to face him, her eyes joyous, yet a hint of concern remain in their depths. “I don’t want to push you out of your boundaries. Was everything we did good for you? This isn’t just about my gratification.”

“I did have some apprehensions when you first displayed everything on the bed. But I can’t ignore how pleasurable it was.” He pauses for a moment, so many unspoken fears wanting to spill from his tongue. “I know you prefer it when I am rough with you. I cannot deny that there’s an element to it that I enjoy. But I do fear that one day … I may end up hurting you. I couldn’t forgive myself if I were to - “

“But you won't hurt me,” she runs a hand down his face. “I know you, Fenris. You have control. You’re careful, yet calculated. And I will never, ever push you to do something that you aren’t one hundred percent comfortable with. These desires of yours? They’re perfectly normal. There’s no harm in us indulging in them now and then. But just so you know, I would be perfectly content with good old fashioned, gentle, passionate love making. That you indulge me in my fancies is simply an added bonus.”

He kisses her then, gentle, yet in his kiss, he shows her all the things he’s yet to say. Hawke is the balm to all of his worries and doubts. One day, he will tell her how he really feels. But for now, he’s all too content to  _ show her. _


	10. Chapter 10

**_A/N: What’s this, 2 chapters posted in less than 24 hours? Well, today I sat down to write a scene that was purely PWP (something I am generally incapable of), and finished it in under 2 hours. So here you go, have some porn!_ **

* * *

 

Fenris awakes with a soft groan. Before his eyes have even opened, he is aware of how painfully hard he is, having dreamt of Hawke’s soft lips around his cock. In his dream, they’d been in a crowded pub - not the Hanged Man, but one he’d never seen before. And Hawke had wanted him, then and there, had begged for him to take her for all to see. Dream Fenris had no qualms with performing in front of an audience - who was he to deny her of such an alluring request? Men cheered him on, encouraging him as he took her from behind, as if a plaything for all of their amusement. The dream ended abruptly with her mouth around his cock, her eyes pleading for him to coat her tongue with his release. And then it had ended, leaving him painfully aroused and unsatisfied.

Uncomfortably, Fenris turns on his side. Hawke sleeps soundly, her back to him as she faces the wall. To frustrate him further, at some point in the middle of the night, she’d thrown the covers off of herself, her thin white nightgown lifted, her ass exposed. She often went to bed without smalls, as many mornings they would start their day with a quick romp before carrying out their duties. It's always been a convenience. But now, her flesh taunts him, as if begging him to come hither.

He reaches out to touch her, but pulls back at the last moment. She is not awake. He’s does not have her permission to touch, and she cannot consent to this while unconscious. Fenris nearly wakes her, but decides against it; she barely gets enough sleep as it is, Meredith and the entire city running her ragged at every opportunity. Her sleep is more important than his erection.

Fenris closes his eyes, willing sleep to come, but the blood refuses to leave his cock. His mind keeps flashing images of that dream - that horrible, repulsive, wonderful dream. It’d felt so surreal, he could practically feel her mouth around him, sucking him dry. He doesn’t remember the faces of the bar patron’s, but he remembers their voices. How they cheered when he pushed into her. How they asked him to come down her throat. Fenris’ member throbs, the overwhelming need to find release unbearable. He needed to come, and he needed to come now.

He will be quick, he decides, pulling his cock free of his breeches. That first tentative squeeze of his hand around his shaft has him biting on his lower lip, desperate not to make a sound. He is careful that his movements are gentle and do not disturb Hawke, slowly palming his hand up and down his length.

As he continues to stroke himself, Fenris stares at her exposed flesh, wishing he could bury himself in her cheeks, to press against her wet heat until he slides into her velvet warmth. After awhile, he closes his eyes, mind wandering back to his dream, back to that bar where he degraded Hawke for his own needs. It’s not the first time his mind has concocted images of her in demeaning scenarios that he would never put her in. Half the time, Fenris scolds himself for thinking such wretched thoughts about the woman he owes his life to. The other half of the time, he can’t find it in himself to care. This seemed to be one of those times. It’s not as if he has any control over where his mind went while he slept. And although he was awake now, he was simply letting his mind finish the dream on his own.

He pictures her as she was near the beginning of the dream, after he’d stripped her of her clothing and bent her over the table. He asked her to spread her cheeks for him, and watched as she parted herself for him, exposing her holes for him to inspect. Fenris gasps, remembering what it feels to push inside of her heat, to have her inner muscles grip him tight as he pumps into her again and again. The movements of his hand quicken, as he cannot find release with the slow measured strokes. Fenris sighs, his hand a poor substitute, but all the while bringing him jolts of pleasure with each stroke. The wet smacking sound of hand upon lubricated flesh fills the air, precome leaking from the weeping tip of his cock. If only it were her hole around him instead. If only - 

”You need to come, don’t you?” Hawke’s voice breaks the silence, his fantasy slowly ebbing away as his heart drops, panic gripping his chest. Fenris lets out a slow breath, ready to explain away. Yet, when he opens his eyes, Hawke has not turned around to confront him, still facing the wall, her ass remaining exposed. In a breathy voice, she says, “Use me, make yourself come.”

He springs forward as if a man possessed, mad with lust. One hand spreading her cheeks, her pushes against her to find her soaking wet. Just how long had she been awake and listening to him pleasure himself? Arousal courses through his veins as he feels the evidence of her desire, knowing that she becomes wet at the thought of him taking himself in hand. Fenris can’t wait any longer. He enters her in one sure thrust, and she moans once he’s seated inside.

There is nothing graceful about his movements, hips smacking into the swell of her ass. Hawke moans with wild abandon, and it surprises him just how aroused she is, with no effort on his part. Her hand busies itself between her thighs, rubbing that spot that will make her come undone around him. Fenris shuts his eyes and replays her words in his head as he thrusts into her.  _ “Use me,”  _ she’d said. He’s not sure what it is about the thought of her being there for his pleasure, but at the moment, he is too taken with the heat of her sex to give a damn about his principles. He could worry about it later. For now, all he knows is the tight heat around him, beckoning him to release inside of her.

Surely enough, with how worked up he's become, Fenris’ movements begin to falter, his hips snapping forward erratically. He’s nearly there, the suction of her core drawing him back in with every thrust. Lyrium lined fingers grasp at the swell of her hip.

“I’m going to fill you,” he growls in her ear, and suddenly she is shuddering around him, toppling over the edge, his words igniting the fire in her belly. He crests with her, and as promised, Fenris empties inside of her. 

Little waves of euphoric aftershocks convulse around him as he catches his breath. Fenris let’s out a content rumble, removing himself from her warmth. A few moments later, before he can even check up on her, Hawke is snoring soundly beside him, never once having turned around during the entire time.

_ “Use me,”  _ she'd said. Something about the absence of eye contact and the lack of communication made the whole encounter all the more … authentic. He awoke, hard and wanting, she offered her hole to him, and once he was done, that was the end of it. He recognises the guilt, but before it can fester, he pushes it to the side. It was only pretend. Hawke said it was okay to pretend, and if Hawke was fine with it, then he would be too.

Pulling her hair out of the way, Fenris kisses the back of her neck, and settles in behind her, allowing sleep to claim him once again.


	11. Chapter 11

**_A/N: Time for me to get serious for a minute about my absence. While I am still in poor health, there has been something else preventing my writing from flowing so freely. It is somewhat pertinent to Dragon Age, so I wanted to share with my readers, who are very dear to my heart._ **

**_DA2 was my first Bioware game, which I played in 2012. I immediately fell in love with Anders, and for some reason, that sparked me wanting to have a kitty named Anders. In December 2012, my two kitties, Anders and Isabela were born. They became like children to me. Being disabled, they were so much more than pets. They were my support animals, and every day they brought me SO much joy. Anders, or Andy as my son called him, was the laughter in our home. He lived up to his namesake, chatting away with his loud voice. He always made us laugh, and I called him my little comedian._ **

**_Sadly, in the weeks before Christmas, I noticed something was off with my poor boy. On December 22, 2018, we took him to the vet and found out he had a fatal disease, likely developed in utero (which means Isabela probably has it as well). I had to make the most heartbreaking decision of my life, to be kind, and to put him to sleep instead of allowing him to live out the few days he had left in pain. This absolutely broke my spirit, and I’ve had quite a bit of trouble recovering. Isabela has to go in for surgery tomorrow, and we are noticing some of the same issues as well. It has been  a devastating month._ **

**_Dragon Age brought these precious family members into my life, and for that, I will forever be grateful to Bioware. Rest in peace, “Baby Andy”. I will love you forever ~~~~_ **

 

* * *

 

Dawn breaks as they make their way to the Gallows, Hawke's sleeves stained with Nyssa's blood, having desperately tried to revive her before dealing with the elf’s husband, Huon. She'd been too late to save her, and memories of her mother flood her mind - she too, lost to a deranged blood mage. She's fought blood mages since that fateful night, but none have stirred Mother's memory quite like this. Fenris is silent at her side, both lumbering, thoughts heavy with the events of that evening. She bids farewell to Merrill and Isabela, not needing their assistance in reporting back to Meredith. But Fenris, loyal as ever, takes a boat with her that leads to the Gallows.

The Gallows, how she _hates_ this place, rightly named after the crossbeam in which prisoners are hung upon. Except in these Gallows, there is no trial, no chance to be proven innocent. Every mage is found guilty, simply for being touched with the gift of magic.

Their footsteps echo off the stone. Each step she takes always threatens to be her last as a free mage when she enters this place. Templar's unfailingly watch her carefully, her status as an apostate well known. She does not need to ask to know that many of these armoured jailors would gladly seize her without a second thought if Meredith allowed it. Perhaps, that is why Fenris always follows her here - has always followed her here, even long before their romance blossomed.

Standing before the Knight Commander is a testament to her own discipline. She accepted this job without argument, as much as she wanted to laugh Meredith's face at the request. But Hawke knows the Knight Commander well enough to know that the woman would not have taken well to rejection. Hawke thought, perhaps, it’d be a chance to expose the Templar injustices for what they were. That she might find three mages, badly abused and afraid - that she might help them find their freedom.

But only Emile earned that right. Evelina and Huon’s bodies lay bloody and cold, slain by her own two hands. Huon had been mad, that much was clear. But Hawke remembers Evelina from before, the poor woman having begged in the depths of Darktown for months on end, emaciated and dirty. Hawke always gave her coin, and each time the apostate expressed deep gratitude. Hawke does not doubt that Templar abuses caused Evelina’s broken mind. Meredith herself even admitted that her Templars were the ones responsible for orchestrating the escape. If the abuse in the Circle is so vile it threatens the duty of her own men, Hawke shudders to imagine what Meredith hides behind closed doors.

Meredith is cold as always, her icy blue eyes harsh enough that Hawke feels she could turn to stone. Her heart is heavy with the tragic death of Nyssa, yet she speaks with confidence, masking her voice enough to lie about the fate of Emile.

“Emile was killed,” she says, when asked of his status. But, Meredith sees right through her.

“Yet we have no body? No witness to a battle? Most curious.” The Knight Commander paces back and forth, her voice confident, eyes locking with Hawke’s. However, despite Hawke’s obvious lie, the Commander doesn’t press for more. “Regardless, your part in this is done.”

The calmness of Meredith’s voice ignites a fire in Hawke’s belly. Has she no remorse for the lives lost? For the lives that will continue to be lost? “The blame for everything these mages did can be laid at your feet. Look at the way you treat them. Is it any wonder they’re so desperate?” She wants to bite her tongue as the words leave her mouth, but her anger will not abate. For too long, she has remained passive to Meredith's tyrannical rule.

“You don’t think the mages are even a little responsible for their crimes?” Fenris questions, irritation prevalent in his tone, his body as tense as a bowstring. Hawke wants to push back, but looking upon Meredith, she realizes now is not the time.

Meredith shakes her head, her hand rubbing against her temples as she lets out an exasperated breath. “I have heard this argument often. ‘Maybe they are not corrupt’. ‘Maybe they deserve leniency’. ‘Maybe they can be saved’.” She strides over to her desk, leaning forward on hands, her voice increasingly agitated. “There are maybe’s enough to fill half the graves in Kirkwall. I will not add more to the pile. Enough. I have not the patience to argue with you further.” Hawke knows that pressing for change now would be pushing her luck, and she does not want to test Meredith's patience for a known apostate further. Without another word, she and Fenris leave the dreaded Gallows. But in the back of her mind, she knows sooner rather than later, she will be beckoned once more.

As they return to Hightown, Hawke and Fenris walk in uncomfortable silence, tension thick in the air. She knows a fight is coming. They've not broached the topic of magic since before their reunion, but she always knew one day, the peace would be severed. She dares to glance at his expression as her estate nears, but he remains unreadable, his face neutral, although she can feel the tension radiating from his body. Her stomach lunges, anxiety bubbling in her gut.

They enter her home, and since she knows what is coming, Hawke walks straight to her room, Fenris on her heels. Once the door to her room is shut, she can see the aggravation in his eyes. He does not speak, but she can see that he wants to. He bites his tongue, which is rare when it comes to the topic of mages. Hawke knows he is holding back, because, with their relationship changed, he does not know how to tread. She sighs. Better to get everything out in the open then; she can tell Fenris isn't about to let this one go.

“Alright. Out with it then.”

His voice is on edge. “That was a foolish thing you said, in front of the Knight Commander.”

Hawke sighs. “I know, but she -”

“But she _nothing_. She is the Knight Commander, and you are an apostate. Do not forget this. That she allows you to live freely is a miracle in itself.”

“And what am I supposed to do, Fenris? Thank her that she doesn’t throw me in the Circle, to live out my days as a prisoner along with all the other mages? To allow her Templar’s violence to continue? They are the ones responsible for this mess!”

“Oh? And you suppose that elf had a knife to his throat? That he killed his wife because the Templar’s _made_ him do it? Are you so blind that you do not see what these mages truly are?”

“Blind?” she nearly spits. “Have you forgotten about what happened to Mother? Of course I know not all mages are good and kind! Some are sick. Quentin, Huon … they had an illness of the mind. But that’s how people like them should be treated -  as sick individuals. Magic is not to blame for their corruption!” Her cheeks burn red as the argument turns personal. Fenris’ mouth sets in a thin, severe line.

“Two of the three apostate’s were blood mages. That should tell you all you need to know.”

“And then there was Emile. He wasn’t a bad man. Misguided? Yes. Evil? No. He just wanted to be free, to have the chance to fall in love.”

“Pah!” he throws his hands in the air in frustration. “He wanted you to think he was an innocent. It was all likely an act.”

“Yes, Fenris. Mages are all terrible people out to fool you. I guess that’s what I’ve been doing all along, isn’t it?”

“Do not make this about you.”

“But it is, isn’t it? I’m a mage, so it must be. You can’t believe I should be free, yet all other mages be damned. I can’t be excused simply because you are in a relationship with me.”

“Oh? I’m a hypocrite now, am I?” he snarls.

“Honestly? Yes, you stubborn ass!”

“Stubborn? Me? Perhaps you should look in a mirror, Hawke.”

The more he pushes, the more she digs her heels in, not ready to back down.

“So, what is it Fenris? Should all mages be locked away? Or should they be allowed to prove themselves worthy, just as I have? You cannot have it both ways.”

“Hawke,” he growls. “Stop this, now. I will not tolerate this from you.”

She laughs, anger thick in mockery. “I will not. I deserve an answer. Or was this all a waste of time? Was I a fool to believe you could ever be on my side?”

“You did not live as a slave among the Tevinter Magisters! You have not seen what they can do! What happened to your mother - that was but a glimpse. You cannot possibly grasp - “

“Get out,” she hisses through teeth, tears stinging her eyes. “Do not dare to bring my mother into this!” That he would so carelessly use the tragic demise of her mother to make a point fills her blood with rage.

Fenris narrows his eyes. “Fine,” he snarls, turning on his heel. In the distance, she hears her front door slam as he exits her estate. Hawke sinks to her bed, tears welling up in her eyes.

She sobs in his absence, a broken sound echoing off the walls of her room. Fat tears spill from her eyes, rolling down her cheeks and onto the bed she curls upon. It pains her greatly that he still fights her on this. She's no fool; she knows his past will always haunt him. But she loves him, for all that he is. And he just barely tolerates this side of her, as if she is cursed and her magic somehow dulls her shine.

Two days pass without a word from Fenris. Panic, sure and steady, sets in her bones. Hawke is reminded of when he left her  - in the dead of night - remaining absent from her arms during the three years that followed. She has abandonment issues, this much she knows. People leave her time and again - first Father to a fever, Bethany to an ogre, Carver to the Wardens, and then Mother to a madman. A wave of anxiety comes anew. It was the mention of her mother that had her throwing Fenris out. Her mother's death will always be a sore spot. But, perhaps she had reacted poorly. She called him names and implied he was a hypocrite. Perhaps they were both in the wrong. She is stubborn, and Fenris is set in his ways. Fights would be bound to happen. But what if - what if he’s realised her magic will always be an issue? What if the honeymoon stage of their relationship is over? What if he tires of having to side with her, even as it goes against his every belief?

She can’t lose Fenris. Not the man she would give her life for. She loves him - has loved him with every ounce of her being for years. With a heavy sigh, she realises just how co-dependent she’s become. She's never wanted to rely on the elf to be happy, but, he’s given Hawke her every hearts desire. It would kill her to lose him to, lest of all, her temper.

* * *

 

Fenris sits in front of the hearth in his room, a bottle of wine in hand. Yet, he hasn’t dared to take a drink. He wants to drown out this numbness that twists in his gut, this nagging feeling that he’s thrown away the best thing to ever happen to him. The more he stews, the deeper his heart sinks into the pit of his stomach. Nausea overcomes him, and he feels physically ill. His mind conjures images of what a life without Hawke would look like. He sees a man, broken without a purpose. A man who sinks into despair, drowning himself in drink night after night. Worse of all, he sees Hawke in the arms of another. A faceless being, but it is a man that is not him. A man who could love her wholly, a man who has no demons or chains to pull him back. Maybe it is what she deserves, but he is selfish. He’s been given a taste of a life with Hawke, and he is like a dog, guarding his prized bone. Without her, he would surely waste away into the void. But perhaps it is too late. Perhaps she has seen that she will never tame him - for an animal is still an animal, and will eventually bite the hand that seeks to subdue it’s wild nature. His own mind tortures him, casting him in the dark cell of its depths, all the while screaming, “ _You did this, you did this, you did this!”_

“Fenris?” he hears her voice, and when he looks up from his chair, Hawke stands in the doorway, a question in her eyes. Even after all this time, she always asks for permission, never wanting to cross a boundary. That she would even consider his feelings after his ire sets his heart thumping in his chest. He’s still angry with her, that much is certain, but the fear of losing her is so much worse than his anger. What has his anger ever done for him, other than feed into his hate, his loathing? It is a poison inside of him, one he needs to overcome. He nods at her to enter.

Placing the bottle down, he stands as she nears, and she stops a foot’s length in front of him. “I think we need to talk about what happened the other day.”

“So you’ve come to end it all. I see.” His eyes fall to the floor, as he idly kicks at nothing.

“End it?” She pauses for a moment, taking a deep breath. “Is that what you want?”

“No,” his answer is immediate and panicked, and his eyes meet hers, wide with fear. “No.”

“Neither do I,” she breathes out, and he can hear the relief in her voice. “But we cannot keep doing this. This … argument. We’ve had it so many times before, and if we are to be together, we need to find a mutual ground. I respect you, and you respect me, correct?”

“Of course I do,” he sighs. “Need it really be said?”

“Okay, so we’re on the same page. I know you will never be as passionate as I am about the freedom of mages - “

Fenris scoffs, and Hawke lets out an angry sigh. “This is what I mean. I am a mage, Fenris. When you … when you act like freedom is a joke … “

“I value freedom more than you can possibly grasp,” he clips his words, anger rising once more.

“Then you should be on my side! People do not deserve to be locked up simply for how they were born. Slavery should not exist. Neither should places like the Gallows. After everything that I’ve seen since coming to Kirkwall, it’d be impossible for me to ignore the dangers of magic. But people should be given the chance to prove themselves.”

“Not every mage is like you, Hawke. You’ve shown me that there are mages who are in control. But there are far too many that turn to dark forces. The Templar’s must remain true to their cause.”

“Their cause? They hunt mages down like it’s a sport!”

“Because mages are _dangerous_.”

“And what of any children we might have?!” She yells, tears in her eyes, and Fenris’ world spins.

“ _Children_?” He tastes the word on his tongue, as if he’s never sounded it out before.

“Yes, children. Magic runs in my veins. That means any children we have together may very well carry “the Amell curse”, as my grandparents supposedly called it.”

“You … wish to bear my children?” He can’t hear much else, his mind stuck on the words that so easily flow from her mouth. Has she thought of this often?

“One day, yes. I think of these things, you know. About you and I … what life might mean when one day, I tire of being Champion. I don’t want to spend my entire life in the center of all this madness. We talked about running away together eventually, remember?”

“I remember,” he says, his voice returning to a soft lull. “And what of these children, you’ve thought of?”

“If they carry my magic … would you … “ her voice cracks, like a dent in a broken mirror. “Would you wish they be sent to the Circle as well?”

“Of course not,” he sighs. He's never thought of having children one day, but cannot deny that the image it conjures sets his heart a flutter. A cabin in a distant land, with younglings weaving through his legs as they laugh and play. They have their mother's hair, their father's eyes. A real family of _his_ own.

Hawke interrupts his thoughts with a sigh. “That’s the life you are signing up for, with me. Children who will likely be cursed with magic. Children whom we will have to teach to fear Templars in order to keep them safe. I want a family. I miss it, desperately so. And you,” she steps forward, holding his hands in her own. “You _are_ my family. The others too, but you most of all.” Her eyes, filled with the depths of her emotion are flowing with tears. “I love you, Fenris.”

He looks at her, eyebrows perked in surprise. He thought their fight would be the thing that would end them, and yet, she confesses her love for the very first time. He nearly sways on his feet. For years, his affection has flourished, and he cannot ignore it any longer, as if it a pebble in his shoe. That pebble has grown into an immovable force that consumes him entirely.

Fenris takes her face in his hands, pressing lips to her as if trying to take the breath directly from her lungs. Lips crash against lips, and his tongue swipes against her own. He pulls away, daring to look into her eyes.

“I love you, more than I ever dreamed possible,” he says, and she whimpers, kissing him again. When they finally pull away, a tear cascades down her cheek. He wipes it away with the pad of his thumb.

“Do not leave me again,” she whimpers in his arms. “It’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to walk away, but never for days at a time. Please?” she sighs. “I was so afraid you were done with me.”

“I will never be done with you, Hawke.” He holds her close, squeezing her tight against him, his arms protectively wrapping around her. Fenris closes his eyes, breathing in the scent of her hair. He will never tire of her. No matter the argument, it could never destroy his love for her. And above all things, he never, without a shadow of a doubt, wishes to part from her side. He would spend every waking moment with her, if possible. It is then Fenris realises he is ready to take the next step in their relationship.

“What if I were to never leave?” he asks, and she cocks her head up to peer into his eyes.

“You mean - ?”

“What if I were to move all of my belongings over to your estate?”

“Fenris,” she smiles, running her hand over his cheek. “If you think you need to make things up to me by offering a grand gesture, there is no need.”

“What if this is something I want?”

Her eyes brim with tears. “You mean it?”

“Allow me to show you,” he says, kissing her deeply. Her fingers wind in his hair, tugging at the silver-white locks, and he swipes his tongue against hers. When they finally both pull away, laugher finds her.

“You make me crazy sometimes, but I can’t live without you.”

“Nor will you ever have to,” he says, and he means it, with every ounce of his body.


End file.
